Love On Any Terms
by R. Grace
Summary: AU. Mary's decision to refuse Sir Richard's proposal leaves her without recourse when Mrs. Bates decides to sell her story to the press. Claiming that her ruin makes her unmarriageable, Mary convinces an injured Matthew to marry her and secure her future.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Julian Fellows, etc., etc. **

**A/N:** New story time! This will be a multi-chapter fic, and will stretch from season 2, episode 5 until the end of season 2, but it is almost completely AU. This is a "what if" story, mainly asking "what if" Mary had refused Sir Richard's proposal outright, and Mrs. Bates sold her scandal to the papers? Definitely a M/M story. There will be some lovin' later on, hence the M rating. Unbetad, so mistakes are totally my fault.

**Blurb: **Mary's decision to turn down Sir Richard Carlisle's proposal leaves her without recourse when Mrs. Bates decides to sell the story of her scandal to the press. When Matthew learns the nature of his injury, he releases Lavinia from their engagement. While caring for him during his recovery, Mary realizes that she needs nothing more from life than to be with Matthew, on any terms. Citing her ruination due the scandal and her desire to one day become Countess of Grantham, Mary convinces Matthew to marry her. How will he react when he discovers her deception? Will there be happiness for them after Matthew's miraculous recovery? A tale of longing, friendship, and passionate love.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Love on Any Terms_

_Chapter 1_

_Probable Spinal Damage. _

Three words, twenty letters, seven syllables, and one life that would never be the same. Mary's heart sank as she read those heartbreaking words. She had been around enough convalescing soldiers to know what spinal damage meant. It meant life in a chair or a bed. It meant total loss of freedom, independence, and, in many cases, loss of all meaning or purpose in life. For many, it meant depression, anxiety, or even anger and bitterness. It meant months of rehabilitation with the best possible outcome being the ability to turn the wheels of a chair without assistance.

_Probable, _Mary reminded herself. Nothing was certain yet.

"It could mean anything," Sybil tried to reassure her, seeing the fear in her eyes.

Mary nodded and turned her attention back to Matthew's face, sadly riddled with small cuts and tracks of dried blood.

"We'll know more in the morning," Sybil continued, reaching to collect Matthew's folded uniform from the foot of the bed. "What's this doing here?"

Mary looked up to see Sybil holding the toy dog she had given Matthew all those months ago at the train station. Despite the deep sadness that tore at her heart at the sight of her brave, strong Matthew so grievously injured, unconscious, and so terribly pale, it warmed her heart to think that he had had it with him. He had thought of her.

"I gave it to him for luck. He was probably carrying it when he fell," she explained.

"If only it had worked," Sybil lamented.

"He's alive, isn't he?" Mary shot back, mildly angry with her sister for cheapening Matthew's life by insinuating that he would have been better off dead than... than what three words, twenty letters, and seven syllables portended. Mary would never believe that. No matter his condition, she was unfathomably grateful that he was alive and back on English soil, out of danger at last.

Sybil nodded indulgently, catching on to Mary's mood.

"We should wash him," she began. "This bit can be grim. Sometimes we have to cut off the clothes they've travelled in, and there's bound to be a lot of blood."

"How hot should the water be?" Mary asked, determined not to be daunted by Sybil's warnings. This was _Matthew_. She could, and would, do anything for him. He needed her, and she would be strong for him.

"Warm more than hot," Sybil answered, feeling proud of her elder sister's courage and determination in the face of such tragedy. She knew more about Mary's feelings for their cousin than Mary probably knew she did. Sybil understood Mary's resolve, her desire to care for one whom she loved. She understood Mary's need to act, to do something productive to spare her own sanity. She understood it, and she admired it, very greatly. She would also encourage it.

Sybil decided to show Mary what she needed to know to help care for Matthew, the way a real nurse would. There would always be the need for the help of a real nurse, of course, but she saw in Mary a strength of mind and stomach that belied her lack of training. As piece after piece of fabric was pried from Matthew's inert body, Sybil watched her sister's face for signs of distress. While she did perceive sadness and pity in Mary's eyes, there was also determination, and resolve to face whatever the next stripped-away piece of dirty fabric revealed to them with composure and strength.

Mary listened attentively to each instruction Sybil gave her. She worked methodically over his right side, while Sybil worked on the left, cleaning off dirt and dried blood before dabbing antiseptic on each abrasion, bandaging the ones severe enough to require it. Once the front side of him had been attended to, Sybil showed Mary how to help her turn him on his side so that they could attend to his back. This would be the true test of Mary's ability to handle herself as a volunteer nurse. Sybil had tried to pull the fabric of his destroyed shirt from beneath him, but it had been hopelessly stuck to the skin.

"I suspect this is where we will find most of the blood, Mary," Sybil cautioned as they positioned themselves to turn him. "Are you ready?"

Mary nodded, silently praying for the strength to face whatever they were to find.

There was a large brownish stain on the fabric at his lower back which held the fabric glued in place. Using warm water, they gently pried the fabric back until the frightening mass of damaged skin came into view. Mary gasped and felt her eyes begin to cloud with tears. She fought desperately for composure. Matthew needed her. She had to stay strong.

Mary glanced at Sybil to find her sister eying her intently, probably studying her reaction to the worst of what they had encountered. Forcing a deep, steadying breath into her tight chest, Mary nodded to her sister, silently communicating that she was ready to go on.

Once the dried, caked blood was washed away, the wound didn't look so very severe. It was more a large bruise than anything else. There were a few breaks in the skin, but none more severe than those found anywhere else on his body. Mary felt much more optimistic as they applied the final bandage and began the process of redressing him. Seeing that she could be useful elsewhere in the hospital, Sybil charged Mary with the task of attending to the cuts on his face. There was also a great deal of blood and dirt under his nails that needed to be scrubbed out. Nodding to her sister, who immediately bustled away towards the bed of another unconscious soldier, Mary set about her assigned tasks.

Dipping a clean cloth into the water, she gently began to sponge the filth from his face. Now that Sybil's watchful eye was no longer upon her, Mary allowed her features to soften into an expression closer to longing than resolve. Her eyes clouded over again at the pitiful sight of the dark circles that ringed his closed eyes, and she blinked quickly to clear them. Soon, his face was clean, and each cut had been been treated with antiseptic. She gently touched her fingers to his hair. It was terribly matted and as dirty as the rest of him had been. A small movement caught her eye as she gently separated the strands. Lice. She cringed. They all had lice. It was to be expected, but, somehow, the thought made her terribly angry. She wanted to kill all of them, each little parasite that added insult to his already grave injuries. Oh, how she hated them! She _would_ kill them, as soon as he was strong enough for her to do so, and it would be a pleasure. For the time being, she contented herself with running damp fingers through the worst of the mats, taking some of the grime with them.

Next, Mary filled a small bowl with warm water and soap, and rested it in her lap as she perched beside Matthew on the narrow bed. She then set about the task of meticulously scrubbing the grime from underneath each of his nails until all had been attended to. She placed the dirtied scrub brush back in the bowl, but retained one of his hands between her own. As she held it close to her face to study each minute detail, Mary felt, somehow, incredibly privileged to be able to know a part of him so intimately. She studied the delicate half-moons of his cuticles, the size of each knuckle, every line, crevasse, and crease. She turned his hand over between hers and studied his palm, which was now covered in hard callouses that testified to the difficulty he had faced these last years. Seeing some traces of dirt there, she scrubbed at it with the brush, but it wouldn't budge. It seemed to have become a part of him, sealed in by months of constant filth and frequent use. Defeated, she set the bowl aside, and placed both his hands in what appeared to be a comfortable arrangement, crossed over his belly.

There was nothing more for her to do, but Mary couldn't bring herself to leave his side just yet. So, she watched his face as he slept, taking note of each rise and fall of his chest as a reminder that he was still alive, despite his death-like appearance. How desperately she wished he would open his eyes! Simultaneously, she wished he could continue on in blissfully ignorant slumber for a good while yet, rather than wake to face the possibly grim truth about his condition.

_Probable, _she repeated to herself. Only _probable. _Nothing was certain yet.

Hesitantly, she placed one hand on his arm, careful to avoid any areas where she knew he had injuries.

"Matthew," she spoke quietly. "Matthew, it's Mary. Can you hear me?"

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. Self-consciously, Mary looked about her, feeling a bit silly for speaking to a man who was obviously too full of morphine to hear a word she was saying. Returning her eyes to his face, she continued to speak to him in her mind, hoping that, on some level, he could hear her, though the entire exercise was more for her own benefit than his.

"_I'm here Matthew. I won't leave you, I promise. I'm here for as long as you need me." _

Mary sighed aloud. He wouldn't need her for much longer, as Lavinia had been sent for. Lavinia would be a wonderful nursemaid. She was sweet, gentle, and demure. Mary had never been of much use to anyone who needed comfort. Even when she was a child, she would chastise Sybil and Edith for crying over scraped knees or elbows, rather than offer comfort. Mary had always despised weakness of any kind, both in herself and others.

It was this sentiment that had prompted her to refuse Sir Richard Carlisle's proposal. In a rare moment of clarity, Mary had realized that she had been using Sir Richard as a crutch, something to lean on and hide behind in an attempt to mask her dismay that Matthew had moved on and she hadn't. Mary Crawley didn't need a crutch. She could, and would, brave the storm on her own, standing on her own two feet and relying on her own strength and iron will to see her through. When, or, more recently, _if_ she married, it would be because she wanted to get married, not because she wanted the coward's way out of a difficult situation.

Turning her attention back to Matthew, she was, once again, struck with the desperate desire to see his eyes open.

"_Oh, Matthew, I do hope you wake up soon. I so long to see those lovely blue eyes of yours. Do you know how captivating your eyes are? I never told you, did I? I am sorry for that. Your eyes were the first thing I noticed about you. They've always made my heart flip, whether I liked you at the time or not. Since you left Downton, I have studied your photograph quite often, and I always lamented the fact that there was no color. I adore your eyes so. Please, Matthew, please, please open them again. If you do not..." _

Mary was jolted from her mental rambling by the escape of a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Immediately angry with herself for becoming so ridiculously emotional, she wiped the tear roughly away with the back of her hand. She jumped quickly up from her place on the bed, and made her way, without looking back, to the hospital exit.

She wouldn't cry. She _wouldn't_.

* * *

"_What?"_

"The story of you and the Turkish gentleman, milady," Anna repeated. "Mrs. Bates has threatened to sell it."

Mary was horrified. After all this time, _that_ story had reared its ugly head again. As if her horrendous mistake hadn't already caused enough grief...

"Who is she going to sell it to?" Mary asked.

"She didn't say. Just that there was nothing we could do to stop her. Mr. Bates has given every last penny to keep her quiet, but she's tricked him. Now he's got nothing left to bargain with."

"Well, you must ask him how much he gave her. I will be sure he is reimbursed."

"I'm sure he won't accept, but thank you just the same, Lady Mary," Anna replied as she slipped Mary's evening gown from her shoulders.

Mary stepped out of the dress, and padded over to the vanity stool, woodenly dropping herself onto it.

"Oh, Anna, whatever am I going to do? There must be something...more money, perhaps. Do you know where she is?"

"She left earlier today, milady. Didn't say where she was going."

"She's gone to London, no doubt. The newspapers seem the most likely target for such a scheme."

Anna stood quietly for a moment, her mind desperately searching for some encouragement, some help, to offer her mistress.

"What about Sir Richard?" Anna began at length. "Perhaps he could help."

Mary laughed humorlessly at the mention of her almost-fiance. For the first time, Mary wondered if she had done the right thing in refusing him. His help might have proven invaluable. As it was, the man probably hated her for leading him down the garden path, then refusing his proposal when he finally proffered it.

"No, he wouldn't want to help me. In fact, he would probably jump at the chance to print the story himself."

"Well, you mustn't fret just now, Lady Mary," Anna offered cheerfully. "Something could still happen to stop it. Mrs. Bates may have been bluffing just to get to Mr. Bates. Nothing's certain yet."

Unbidden, the word _probable_ flashed before Mary's mind's eye.

_Probable. _Nothing was certain.

* * *

I promise the story won't always be this depressing! There will be a happy M/M ending, so hang in there, guys!

Please let me know if you want me to continue. I really love this plot idea, and I hope you all will too! Matthew fans will be especially pleased, I think.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Before we begin, I would like to say a special thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! It is all very much appreciated. :)

* * *

_Chapter 2_

Mary rose with the sun the next morning, angry and upset with herself for running out on Matthew the previous day though she had promised him, albeit only in her own mind, that she would stay with him for as long as he needed her. What if he had awakened during the night surrounded by strangers, not knowing where he was or what was wrong with him? She would have to find a way to maintain strict control over her emotions if she were to be of any use to him. She couldn't simply run away from him every time her feelings threatened to get the better of her. Now, with the threat of scandal and ruin hanging over her head, her nerves were doubly frayed, therefore she would have to put a double guard up around her heart, lest she fall apart completely.

When she arrived at the hospital, Mary immediately asked Dr. Clarkson if Matthew had awakened.

"No, he hasn't shown any signs of returning to consciousness yet, Lady Mary. The morphine should be nearly gone from his system by now, so it won't be long."

"Thank you, Doctor," she answered briefly, pushing past him to hurry to Matthew's side. It was absolutely imperative that she be there when he awoke, whether for her own sake or for his, she refused to analyze too closely.

"Oh, and, Lady Mary..." Dr. Clarkson called after her.

"Yes," she answered impatiently.

"Do come and fetch me when he wakes. I need to examine him, to gauge the scope of his injury, and I need him conscious to do so. In order to determine the extent to which his spinal cord may or may not be damaged, I will need him able to speak."

"Of course," Mary consented before continuing on to her destination.

Matthew didn't look much better than he had the previous day. In fact, he didn't look any different at all. He way lying perfectly still with his hands crossed over his belly, just as she had left him.

_Alright, Mary, you have a job to do. Think like a nurse. What does Matthew need?_

Glancing over his slumbering form, Mary's eyes alighted on a bit of white bandage peeking out from under his sleeve. She decided her first task as his personal nurse was to check his bandages to ensure that none needed changing. She didn't need to undress him to do so. There was one deep cut on his forearm, which could be reached simply by rolling up his sleeve. The others were on his chest and belly, so she only needed to unbutton his shirt to reach them.

After she did so, Mary suddenly found it necessary to remind herself, again, to think like a nurse. It was terribly wrong for her to notice how beautiful he was. The years of army rations and vigorous physical exertion had stripped him of every ounce of fat he once possessed, exposing the hard, corded muscle stretched tight under his pale skin. She forced her eyes to focus only on the areas that needed tending. In the end, she was glad she had thought to check his bandages, as one scrape had begun seeping in the night and needed a fresh application of antiseptic and a clean dressing.

As she replaced the buttons on his shirt, Mary sensed a presence behind her. She turned to see Dr. Clarkson watching her with a small smile.

"Very well done, Lady Mary. I see Captain Crawley is in good hands."

He then handed her a bottle of white powder, which she accepted with a questioning look.

"That is what we use for the lice. You should find a fine tooth comb in the supply cabinet."

With that, Dr. Clarkson continued on his rounds, leaving Mary suddenly feeling slightly queasy. Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she collected the fine tooth comb and a bowl of hot water, and set about her unsettling task.

Pulling the comb through the numerous mats in his thick mane was difficult at first, but, soon, his golden hair was shining and soft as ever, most of the miniscule pests having met their deaths in the hot water. Pleased with herself, Mary ran her fingers through the silken strands, enjoying the slight tickle as they slipped across her skin. Seeing him stir slightly at her touch, she repeated the action, allowing her nails to gently scrape across his scalp. This produced an even more definite reaction, earning a contented groan from her patient.

"Matthew, it's Mary," she spoke softly. "Can you hear me?"

His eyelashes fluttered slightly against his cheeks, encouraging Mary to try again to wake him.

"Matthew," she spoke, a bit louder this time. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently.

His eyes fluttered open then, only partly at first. After several blinks, they opened enough to focus - or at least partially focus - on Mary's brightly smiling face.

Mary was overjoyed. He was awake! His eyes were open, at last! Her heart warmed as a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gazed up at her. Then his lips moved, seemingly forming the syllables of her name, but producing no sound. He tried again, this time only managing a strangled croaking noise. Mary placed a hand on his chest to discourage him from further attempts at speaking, which he clearly wasn't ready for.

"Yes, it's me," she assured him. "You're home, safe, now. And, Captain Crawley, you're so special to everyone here, that they've assigned you your own personal nurse. Unfortunately, it's only me, so you'll just have to make due."

Mary gifted him with her most encouraging smile, pleased that her words seemed to have a positive affect on him, though he appeared a bit too dazed to fully understand them.

"Now, I would imagine you're thirsty. I'm going to fetch you a glass of water. I will just be a moment."

Mary moved quickly to the rolling cart that housed a pitcher of drinking water and several glasses, filled one, and carried it back to the bed where Matthew continued watching her with bleary eyes. Leaning over him, she gently lifted his head to help him drink. He was only able to take a few small sips before sighing deeply in exhaustion and laying his head back against the pillow. Mary placed the glass on the side table before turning back towards Matthew. His eyes were closed again, but, this time, he appeared to have drifted into a peaceful, natural slumber. She was pleased to see that some of his color had returned. He no longer looked like a breathing corpse.

Remembering her promise to Dr. Clarkson, Mary rose to fetch him, pleased that she had good news to convey.

"He awoke only briefly, but I suspect he will be awake again soon," she explained. "If you don't mind, I would like to use the hospital's telephone to notify my father. I'm sure he will want to see Matthew now."

"Of course, Lady Mary," Dr. Clarkson answered. "I'll go and check on Captain Crawley now."

Mary rushed happily over to the telephone, pleased to be able to share the good news with her father, whom she knew cared for Matthew very deeply. She also felt a good deal of pride that, even in such a small way, she had played a roll in his improvement. For the first time, Mary understood why Sybil enjoyed nursing as much as she did. It was a wonderful feeling to be able to offer help to someone in need. The fact that it was someone she loved dearly made it doubly fulfilling.

Just as Mary expected, her father immediately rushed to the hospital, wishing to be present for the examination. Dr. Clarkson had already begun making preparations, with Mary's assistance. White screens were placed all around Matthew's bed, for privacy. The task of gently bringing Matthew back to consciousness fell to Mary, who was only too happy to assist. Remembering that he had seemed to respond when she raked her fingers through his hair, she replicated the action. She also spoke to him softly and lifted one of his hands in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Soon, his eyes were, once again, fixed upon her.

Matthew was more aware upon his second awakening than the first. He blinked repeatedly, trying to reconcile the angelic vision before him with the memory of where he had last been. Mary was standing over him, a halo of white light surrounding her slight form, causing her perfect skin to appear positively luminous. She was smiling so kindly at him, her soft brown eyes full of tenderness. If it weren't for the dull pain in his back, he would have been convinced that he was either dreaming or in heaven. He blinked again, and his vision cleared. Mary no longer appeared as a heavenly being ringed in light, but the flesh and blood Mary of his memories. He was stunned by her beauty as he always was. She was so utterly lovely.

It took several moments of concentration for him to locate his vocal cords, but, soon, he found himself repeatedly uttering her name.

"Yes, Matthew, it's me," she answered him sweetly. "You're in the hospital in Downton. Dr. Clarkson would like to examine you now."

"What happened?" he slurred.

"I'm afraid you were wounded during a battle, but you're here now, and on your way to recovery."

Matthew nodded, then winced slightly as the motion caused his head to swim.

"Right, I remember now," he whispered weakly. "A shell...a shell hit just in front of us. William...he...he tried to save me. The blast threw us back. That's the last I remember."

For a moment, both were silent. Matthew was lost in his memories. Mary tried, with great difficulty, to imagine kind, gentle Matthew in such a horrible place. The image didn't seem to add up, somehow.

"My back hurts," he sighed plaintively.

"That's what Dr. Clarkson needs to examine. It sounds like you must have hit something when the blast threw you backwards. We'll know more after the doctor sees you."

Matthew nodded, again feeling dizzy from the motion. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would claim him again. He was just so very tired.

"Matthew," Mary shook him gently. "Matthew, you must stay awake for Dr. Clarkson's visit."

Mary could see that he was trying to rouse himself, but it was proving a difficult task. She tried to assist him by speaking of something she thought would be of interest to him.

"Lavinia is coming down today. She should be here any minute, actually," she began. Seeing Matthew's eyes open briefly, she continued. "I know she'll be very happy to see you. Your mother has also been sent for. She had a bit further to travel, but she should be here soon, as well."

"I shall be...happy to see them both." Matthew managed a small smile, hoping to reassure his kind nurse, who was looking a bit anxious.

Mary smiled indulgently back just as Dr. Clarkson led her father into the makeshift room.

Matthew's face brightened with recognition as Lord Grantham entered.

"Matthew, my dear chap, it's so good to have you home."

"It's good to be home, sir," Matthew answered, fighting to remain lucid, though intense lethargy was quickly overtaking him.

"Alright, let's get started," Clarkson began.

"I'll wait just outside," Lord Grantham excused himself, slipping between the screens.

"First, Captain Crawley," the doctor began, "I'm going to gently prod your feet with a needle, and I'll need you to tell me if you can feel any of it."

Matthew nodded weakly in understanding, though his eyes were barely open.

"Lady Mary, if you could, keep him awake please."

"Of course," she answered, rushing back to Matthew's side and taking his hand, which she patted comfortingly as the doctor began his examination.

"Alright, tell me if you feel anything," Doctor Clarkson ordered from the foot of the bed.

Mary watched Matthew's face intently, seeing no sign that he was at all aware of what the doctor was doing. His eyes were watching her face again, their expression one of mild awe. She smiled at him, and he smiled sleepily back, still showing no sign he felt any of the pressure the doctor was applying to the soles of his feet.

"Well then," the doctor sighed, straightening to stand beside the bed. "Lady Mary, if you would assist me in turning him, please."

Mary quickly moved to assist with the task, recalling the technique Sybil had showed her the previous day. It was slightly easier now that Matthew was no longer a dead weight, and the doctor was much stronger than Sybil. Once Matthew was settled, she patted his hand and offered him one more encouraging smile before moving back into the corner created by the screens.

Only a minute or so into the second stage of the evaluation, Lord Grantham pulled the screen back slightly, allowing Mary to see Lavinia's worried face on the other side. With a kind smile, she went immediately to the terrified young woman's side, taking her hands and leaning close to kiss her cheek.

"Do they know any more yet," Lavinia asked in an unsteady voice.

"They're examining him now," Mary answered in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.

"So he's conscious?"

"Just about," Mary answered.

"Have they found out what happened," Lord Grantham suddenly spoke up.

Mary nodded, and answered, "A shell landed near them. The explosion threw Matthew against something." Mary paused in her narrative, suddenly fearing for Lavinia's composure, as well as her own.

"Go on," her father prompted.

"Dr. Clarkson thinks...there may be trouble with his legs.

Lavinia sucked in a deep breath, her face nearly crumpling at this last statement. Mary felt sure she had been right to fear for the delicate young woman's composure. More than ever, she felt her courage rise, her resolve strengthen. She would have to be strong, for Lavinia, as well as for Matthew.

Before Lord Grantham or Lavinia could question Mary further, Dr. Clarkson emerged from behind the screens.

"Not good news, I'm afraid," he began.

Mary's blood seemed to run cold.

"I'd say the spinal cord has been transected - that it is...permanently damaged."

"You mean he won't walk again?" Lord Grantham asked, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

"If I'm right then, no, he won't."

At this, Lavinia broke into pitiful tears, dropping her face into her hands as she began to sob softly. Mary watched through unfocused eyes as her father draped his arm around Lavinia's shaking shoulders, offering comfort where Mary could find none within herself to give.

"It's a shock of course. You must be allowed to grieve," Dr. Clarkson spoke again, "but I would only say that he will, in all likelihood, regain his health. This is not the end of his life."

Matthew would regain his health. His life was out of danger. As long as she had that hope to cling to, Mary knew she - they - could face whatever challenges life would now offer them.

"Just the start of a different life," she observed, allowing a surge of hope and determination blossom inside her.

"Exactly," the doctor concurred, before his eyes flitted uneasily to Lavinia's tear-streaked face.

"Lord Grantham, I wonder if I might have a word," he asked.

"Of course."

With the exit of the two gentlemen, Mary suddenly found herself in the awkward position of needing to offer comfort to Matthew's distraught fiance. Unsure of exactly what she should do, Mary merely reached out her hand to gently touch Lavinia's wrist.

"Have you got a handkerchief?" Lavinia asked. "I never seem to have one in moments of crisis."

Happy to be able to assist in such a practical, unemotional way, Mary reached into her pocket and handed the requested handkerchief to Lavinia. Remembering the way her nanny had attempted to comfort her as a child on the rare occasion that she required it, Mary placed a hand stiffly on Lavinia's back, rubbing softly up and down. The gesture seemed to do its work, as Lavinia rallied slightly. The flow of her tears slowed considerably, allowing her to dry her face with the borrowed handkerchief.

"Matthew will want to see you," Mary nudged her gently. "You must be strong for him, Lavinia."

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Lavinia willed herself into determined composure.

"He's still quite weak, and won't be able to remain awake for long. You should see him now so that he can get some rest."

"Right," Lavinia nodded, straightening to her full hight before moving towards the opening in the screens with slow, determined steps.

Mary automatically moved to follow, eager to check on her patient. Her father's hand on her arm stopped her.

"Let them have a moment together," he admonished. Reluctantly, Mary remained where she was.

After a minute or two had passed, Mary slowly stepped up to the makeshift room and peered inside. Lavinia sat still and quite, her hands folded in her lap, in the chair beside Matthew's bed. Tears were, once more, running silently down her pale cheeks. Matthew had drifted off into a peaceful slumber, a contented smile gracing his face. Mary hoped Lavinia would savor that happy expression while it lasted. It was only a matter of time before they had to tell him. It might be some time before they saw him smile again.

* * *

One more quick note before you go. So far, we've only seen Mary's perspective, but only because Matthew's been out cold. We will hear more from him in the coming chapters. This chapter didn't do much to push the AU plot forward, but I wanted to spend time developing Mary's character in terms of her feelings for Matthew and the strength of her determination when there's something she wants. This will lay the foundation for the main action of later chapters.

I took a cue from Sir Richard in having Mary self-proclaim herself Matthew's personal nurse. In this case, he really is in Mary's sole charge.

Alright, time to go splash cold water on my face. I had to re-watch episode 5 to write his, and, as always, I cried like an infant. Mary would have been appalled. :)

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Mary handed her outerwear to Carson with a wan smile. She was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, from her morning at the hospital. Even so, the day was far from over. She had taken the motor back to Downton with her father to take luncheon with her family and give Lavinia and Matthew some time alone. Mary sighed deeply as she remembered how empty she had felt, how devoid of all meaning and purpose, as she walked out the door of the hospital, knowing she was leaving Matthew's care in another's hands.

She arrived in her mother's private parlor for luncheon, and was surprised to find only her mother, Sybil, and Edith present.

"Where's Papa?" she asked.

"He took a tray to the library, dear," Lady Grantham answered. "I'm afraid he's taken the news of Matthew's condition very hard, and he wished for some time to himself."

Nodding her understanding, Mary ate quickly and quietly. Understanding that she, too, would be under great stress after the morning's revelations, her mother and sisters kindly allowed her to remain largely undisturbed from her pensive state, though Sybil asked several very nurse-like questions about Matthew's condition and how he was faring. Mary answered each one woodenly, trying not to notice the pitying looks on the faces of her companions. Matthew wouldn't want pity, so she didn't want it for him either.

After forcing several tasteless mouthfuls down her throat, Mary rose to excuse herself. She made her way straight to the library, hoping to catch her father still alone. After Dr. Clarkson had taken him aside earlier in the hospital, he had appeared more distressed and unnerved than she had ever seen him. This deeply concerned Mary. She knew she would have no peace until she knew just what it was that was apparently too distressing for the ears of mere females. She felt indignant at the thought, as she always did when she was left out of something simply because of her gender. It felt terribly unjust. She may be a woman, but she was strong enough to handle whatever it was, no matter how dire. What worried her the most was the nagging fear that Clarkson had only said Matthew would recover to spare Lavinia's feelings. She knew this was a ridiculous notion, as doctors were more want to offer the worst case scenario, believing that misguided hope was one of the world's worst evils. Still, she wouldn't rest until she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was out of danger.

Upon entering the library, Mary was almost frightened by the deep distress written on her father's noble face. It was almost as if she had never realized how aged her father was until that moment. He sat on the sofa with his head in his hands, brow contracted with troubling thoughts.

"Oh, Mary," he brightened slightly as she entered, straightening himself into a more dignified position.

"Come, sit by me, my dear," he offered, extending his hand to his concerned daughter.

"Papa, what is it? Are you worried about Matthew?" she asked.

"Yes. Yes, I am...sad for Matthew. Dr. Clarkson has charged me with the grim task of breaking the news of his spinal injury to him. We agreed that it would be best if he heard it from a family member, a male family member specifically, so, the lot fell to me."

Deciding that hedging around such an important topic would be unwise, Mary jumped right to her reason for the visit.

"Papa, I know there is something that you and Dr. Clarkson are not telling me about Matthew's condition."

"Mary, it isn't the sort of thing one can discuss with a lady," her father responded, already becoming uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.

"Papa, I'm not _just_ a lady. I'm Matthew's nurse, and I think I have a right to know what's going on with my patient."

Lord Grantham chuckled in amusement at his eldest daughter's determination. Mary had always been a force to be reckoned with when there was something she wanted. She had self-proclaimed herself Matthew's nurse, and now she was going to insist on knowing all that there was to know about her patient's condition, impropriety be damned. It was so like his Mary.

"I'm quite serious, Papa," Mary insisted, displeased that her father was finding any humor at all in the situation. "If you refuse to tell me, I'll simply hound Dr. Clarkson until he does."

Knowing his daughter as he did, Lord Grantham took her warning with the gravity it deserved. Thinking to spare Dr. Clarkson the inquisition, he reluctantly relented. Better that he find a way to tell her, in the least indelicate manor possible, than to burden Dr. Clarkson with the task.

"Well, Mary, I suppose there's no use fighting you on this. I know you're impossible to dissuade when your mind is made up. Forgive me if I need a few moments to find the words."

Mary nodded, content to wait with as much patience as she could muster for her father to speak. She knew it was likely only his distracted state that allowed her to carry her point with so little trouble, and she wouldn't jeopardize her victory, though she was quite anxious to be back at the hospital. Every second spent away from Matthew felt impossibly long. She had to see him, to be sure he was still alright. She could have no peace unless she was in his presence.

"Well, you see, my dear," Lord Grantham began, "Matthew's injury...the same one that took his ability to walk...has also taken his ability to father children."

Mary's eyes went wide. Her father couldn't know, but she knew enough of male anatomy to know exactly what it was he implied. She was surprised she hadn't thought of it herself. It made perfect sense, though she could never admit such to her father. Well, if Mrs. Bates sold her story to the papers, her father would know the unfortunate truth soon enough.

Mary kept her face carefully impassive, not wishing to give herself away before it became necessary. She would need to have a discussion about her past with her father, it only being fair that she warn him of the storm to come, but it would have to wait for a more appropriate moment. He would need at least some time to absorb the first blow before the next fell.

"I see," she answered. "How horrible. Poor Matthew. Poor Lavinia." _  
_

"I don't know how to break it to him, Mary," her father continued, his voice dangerously unsteady. "How does one tell a young man, with his whole life ahead of him, that he must give up his dreams of one day being a father...that he will never be able to be a proper husband to his sweetheart? How can I, Mary?"

Understanding that her father's question was purely rhetorical, Mary placed a reassuring hand on his arm, knowing he would need her strength, as well as his, to face the difficult task he had been given.

"It's times like these that make me question what we're fighting for," he continued. "Is it really worth it? Really? It's just such a waste. Such a tragic, needless, senseless waste."

"A terrible waste," Mary concurred. Her voice sounded hollow and lifeless through the fierce ringing in her ears. "Matthew would have made been a wonderful father."

"It seems a terribly callous thing to say at a time like this, but the issue of inheritance will once again rear its ugly head."

"Papa, please don't mention that to him, not now," Mary plead fervently. "He'll have enough to feel badly about as it is. Give him time to heal and to...accept his situation, as best he can, before bringing _that_ up."

Lord Grantham nodded in agreement, placing a hand over Mary's where it rested on his arm. Matthew was fortunate to have Mary as his champion.

"Of course, my dear. You're right. Matthew shouldn't have to worry about that just now. He has many years ahead of him yet, thanks be to God."

"Yes," Mary nodded. "For now, we must focus on getting him well again, as much as can be."

Patting her father's arm one last time, Mary rose, smoothing her skirts with unsteady hands.

"I'll return to the hospital now. Lavinia will want to rest from her journey. I must relieve her."

"I will be down shortly, as well. Perhaps in an hour or so," Lord Grantham rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to relieve the headache he could feel coming on. "I still need time to prepare myself for what I need to say to Matthew. God help me."

Mary gave her father what she hoped was a reassuring look, though it felt as forced and insincere as the numerous smiles she had given Lavinia earlier that morning. Consolation had never been Mary's strong suit, and the need to administer it so very frequently was beginning to wear on her. She would need to save every ounce of comfort and tenderness left within her for Matthew, who was, and certainly would be, more in need of it than anyone else.

* * *

The scene when Mary arrived back at the hospital was much the same as it had been when she left. Lavinia was still seated in the chair beside Matthew's bed, hands clutching the borrowed handkerchief in her lap. Matthew slept soundly still, happily ignorant of the blow that was soon to fall. Mary's stomach clenched at the thought.

She didn't envy her father his task. The very thought of it made her want to turn and run. She certainly wouldn't be anywhere near when Matthew was told of his condition. There was no possible way she could bear it with composure, and she knew it, though she always hated admitting to any semblance of weakness. She was weak where Matthew was concerned, always had been. He had been the cause of her tears more times than everything else in her life combined.

She wondered how he would bear it, to receive such devastating news in such a way, in a crowded hospital with no privacy and no solitude to be found. An image of Matthew's smiling face as he flew down the road on his bicycle flashed before her mind's eye. He would never be able to enjoy the freedom and carelessness he had once relished, and she knew he would be devastated, saddened, and probably angry as well. She dearly hoped Lavinia would be able to offer him comfort. Mary couldn't imagine how anyone could possibly offer him anything that would assuage the burden of all he had lost, but she hoped all the same. There was still so much he had to offer, so much life still left for him to live. _Someone_ ought to be able to communicate that to him. Lavinia seemed the most obvious choice. After all, it was her to whose future his was tied. The challenges raised by his condition would be theirs to face together.

Lavinia looked up with a wan smile when Mary approached. Her tears had dried, but her eyes looked vacant and weary, red from tears only recently shed. Red blotches dotted her pale cheeks, marring her delicately pretty face.

"I thought you might want to go to Crawley House now to unpack and rest from your trip," Mary said, her tone portraying a lightheartedness she didn't feel.

"Quite right," Lavinia agreed. "I am feeling a bit tired, though I hate to leave him."

"Don't worry about Matthew," Mary reassured her. "He'll probably still be asleep when you return. I'll sit with him until then."

"Thank you, Mary," Lavinia offered genuinely as she rose to leave. "Matthew is lucky to have such a devoted cousin and friend as you."

Taken aback by Lavinia's generous complement, Mary missed a beat before replying, somewhat haltingly, and with great effort expended in order to convince herself that she ought to mean what she said.

"And he is also fortunate to have so devoted a fiance as you."

Lavinia's answering smile was a sincere one, and Mary, once again, found it impossible to dislike or resent the sweet girl who had what she wanted most in the world.

_Well, there's at least one thing I've wanted that Lavinia will never have._

Mary immediately felt horrible for having such a petty, selfish thought at such a time. She was reminded of the time, years ago, when she had torn apart a doll she and Edith had quarreled over, deciding that, if she couldn't play with it, nobody could. Applying the same attitude to one she love so much as Matthew was simply wrong, and she nearly hated herself for feeling it. Lavinia wouldn't feel that way if their roles were reversed. She was so _good, _so very, very good. Matthew deserved someone like her, and she _would_ be glad, for his sake, that he had her.

Lost in her thoughts, Mary took the seat Lavinia had vacated, her eyes fixing longingly on Matthew's relaxed face. Poor darling, the bruising around his eyes seemed almost worse than when he first arrived. He so desperately needed to rest. Mary hoped he would still be able to find repose after his discussion with her father took place. She was sure _she_ wouldn't sleep at all that night, not one wink. She would be worrying about Matthew, essentially alone in an unfamiliar hospital, the weight of sadness and hopelessness closing in around him, grief crushing him, suffocating him.

_Oh, Matthew,_ her mind cried out to him. She ached for him with every fiber of her being. The only relief she found from her heartache was to repeat his name over and over in her mind like a prayer, her soul reaching out to him as he lay helpless before her, hoping to somehow bolster him with her love, to transfer some of her strength and determination to him, to build him up.

_Matthew. Matthew. Matthew._

* * *

We all know what's going to happen in the next installment, so have your handkerchiefs at the ready. :'(

And what about Mary's story? Will she find the courage to warn her father before it goes to print? How will Matthew handle the news, in light of his condition? Stay tuned to find out!


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

He was back at Downton, lying in the soft grass under the shade of the great cyprus tree that had seen so many of his encounters with Mary, including the worst one of all. This time, however, he was lying comfortably in the soft grass, gazing up at the clouds that moved lazily across the horizon. In the corner of his field of vision, Matthew could see the great house, the future home he had come to love. Then Mary's voice, her sweet, sensual voice called out to him.

_Matthew. Matthew. _

She spoke his name several times, her velvet tones caressing his ears. He wanted to find her, see her, touch her.

As if conjured by his very desires, Mary's face appeared over him, delicate brows slightly contracted with concern as they had been when last he saw her.

"_When was that, exactly?_" he wondered.

Suddenly the peaceful vision shattered as Matthew realized it was just that, a vision. He was lying in a hospital bed, sore and stiff and feeling altogether a bit strange. Every inch of his body ached except his legs. That was very odd. Perhaps they had fallen asleep from lying in this deucedly uncomfortable bed for so long. If he could rouse himself, perhaps blood would flow to them and feeling would return.

_Matthew._

Mary's voice called to him again, and he forced his eyes to flutter open. Not surprisingly, Mary's face greeted him when he opened his eyes. Somehow he knew she was by his side now. Lavinia had been with him before. Where was she now? Matthew wanted the reassurance of seeing her face, of being able to whisper sweet words and endearments to her, if only for the sake of easing his own conscience. It weighed heavily on him that, in his worst moments, and practically any time he closed his eyes, it was always Mary's face his subconscious conjured up, never Lavinia's. Not once.

"Feeling a bit less groggy?" Mary asked sweetly, reassuring smile firmly in place.

"Where's Lavinia?" Matthew asked.

"She's gone back to unpack," Mary answered, trying to hide her hurt that Matthew seemed to wish it had been Lavinia by his side instead of her, not to mention he had ignored her kindly-intentioned question.

"How's William?" was his next query. Now that he was becoming lucid again, Matthew was beginning to wonder about what had transpired while he was dead to the world. "I know he tried to save me."

"He isn't too good, I'm afraid," Mary answered, wishing desperately that she had a better answer to give him, and knowing that she had dreadfully understated the truth about William's condition.

Emotion threatened to overwhelm Matthew's already fragile composure. William had become a good and loyal friend to him, back in the trenches were class differences and social graces lost all meaning. William was a kind and generous friend and a stalwart fellow soldier. The injustice, the gross unfairness, of the world that sent such a bright, promising young man with his whole future ahead of him, to face an early grave was overwhelming in its cruelty.

"Any sign of Mother?" he asked next, wanting the comfort of his mother's presence, just as he had when he was a small boy. He felt like he should be ashamed of the fact, but, exhausted and sore as he was, he had not the energy to fight it.

"Not yet, but I'm sure she's making her way back by now," Mary answered, again forcing her face into a pleasant expression of optimism and encouragement that was, at the moment, the closest thing to comfort she could find it within herself to offer. If only Matthew would look at her! Her efforts were beginning to feel like a complete waste of emotional energy.

Matthew didn't want to look at Mary. Every time his eyes wandered in her direction, his composure slipped a bit more. She was so lovely, and he was so blessedly happy to see her. But he didn't really understand why she was spending so much time at his side. It was terribly confusing. He had accepted the difficult truth that she wasn't in love with him long ago, however much he might wish it. Besides, he had moved on, hadn't he? That shouldn't matter any more. He simply wished he understood her motives better. The notion that, perhaps, she had been somehow assigned to him, that she wasn't tending to him of her own volition, concerned him. He wouldn't want her, of all people, to be forced into doing anything distasteful to herself, especially if it involved him.

He wished he could simply rise from his horrid bed and make his way home, to his own bed. The company of his fiance, who left him in no doubt whatsoever of her feelings for him, would be quite pleasant, and would ease his mind considerably. He hated the fact that he had no solitude, no privacy whatsoever. He had noticed that his legs seemed strangely free of pain, when the rest of his body ached incessantly. Now, when he tried to shift them in an effort to appraise his possible ability to rise and leave the hospital in which he was so undesirably trapped, he found that his brain was, strangely, unable to locate them. If there wasn't a conspicuously foot-shaped lump at the foot of the bed, he would have been convinced that he no longer had legs at all.

Perhaps Mary knew what was wrong with him. A side affect of the pain medication, perhaps. They had probably pumped him so full of morphine during transport that his lower half hadn't awakened yet. He tried to remain optimistic, knowing that this was, in all likelihood, not the case, but unable to entertain the other options.

"I still have this funny thing with my legs," he observed to his companion. "I can't seem to move them...or feel them, now that I think about it."

The terrified look in Mary's eyes as he voiced his concerns put Matthew on edge. She was quick to arrange her features in her usual pleasant mask, but he knew her well enough not to be fooled.

"Did Clarkson mention what that might be?" he asked.

Mary fought down the rising panic inside her chest. Oh, where was her father? Lavinia? Isobel? She couldn't face this alone. He would need someone there to comfort him, to soften the impact of the blow, and she wasn't sure she was up to the task. She hated to admit it, but she wasn't strong enough for _this_.

"Why don't we wait for Lavinia, and then we can all talk about it," she deflected cooly, schooling her features, once again, into a forced smile.

"Tell me," he pressed, worried by Mary's obvious avoidance of the question. Surely it couldn't be _that_ bad, could it? Mary was the strongest, least emotional person he knew. If _she_ was having difficulty with this...whatever it was...well, it certainly didn't bode well for him.

"You haven't even been here for twenty-four hours. Nothing will have settled down yet," she tried again to placate him.

"Tell me," he insisted a second time.

The pleading expression in his eyes and the firm tone of his voice would brook no argument, nor did Mary have the strength or will to fight him, at this point. Besides, worry for his emotional and mental well-being began to rise inside her as she watched him, his luminous eyes searching her face for any encouragement, any hope. She would have to tell him, not all of it, but the most general facts. The sooner he knew, the sooner he could move past the shock and forward towards recovery. Allowing him to languish in worry and speculation, though his mind probably couldn't conjure anything worse than the truth, would do no good, and may even be detrimental to his fragile health. There was no way around it. She would have to summon the remainder of her reserves of strength and tell him. If Matthew could face the heat of battle with courage and determination, she could face this for him.

"He says you may have damaged your spine," she spoke quickly, before she could lose her tenuous hold on her courage.

Matthew felt his heart sink in his chest. He knew all too well what a damaged spine portended. Everyone did, it seemed. The look in Mary's eyes told him she knew, as well. Still, he was desperate to cling to some home, any hope, that things were not as dire as they sounded.

"How long will it take to repair?"

_Oh, no. Oh, please God, no. Don't make me be the one to tell him!_

"You can't expect them to put timings on this sort of thing," she deflected, hoping he would accept that for the time being.

"But he did say it would get better?"

He was nearly pleading with her, begging her for some kind of hope, some word of encouragement. If only she had it to give. If only she could tell him that all would be well - that, in time, he would walk again, ride his bicycle, work, and return to normal, everyday life. But that wasn't the case, and she feared that he could read it on her face. Her courage was now draining at an alarming rate, and she couldn't find the words to deliver that final blow.

_Think, Mary! Hope! He needs hope. Say something positive._

"He says the first task is to rebuild your health, and that's what we have to concentrate on."

It was a lame attempt, and she could easily see it hadn't fooled him. She may as well have said the words. She watched, helplessly, as the light faded from his once-vibrant blue eyes, and single tear trickled down his bruised cheek.

"I see," he spoke, surprised by the even tone of his voice that belied the storm of despair and heartache that raged inside him. He wanted to scream, to cry, to curse God and the war and everything and everyone else. He wanted to rip apart anything he could get his hands on, throw things, break things. He couldn't. He was in the hospital. No privacy. No solitude. He didn't even have the luxury of falling apart.

Mary was desperate to comfort him, to pull him back from the edge of despair before he could fall into it. She had heard of men who, having received news not incomparable to Matthew's in regards to their far-reaching consequences, who chose to end their own lives rather than face the truth of their changed existences. A small surge of courage prompted her to try again to offer him some kind of hope to cling to, however feeble it seemed.

"And he says there is no reason why you shouldn't have a perfectly full and normal life."

"Just not a very mobile one," Matthew remarked dryly. He would have found Mary's weak assurances laughable if he could find a single trace of humor within himself at the moment. What about life in a chair, with constant attendance, and very little freedom of any kind could possibly be termed "full" or "normal?" It was positively ludicrous.

Mary's courage was quickly being replaced by pure, unadulterated despair. Her face remained an impassive mask, but her eyes betrayed her. Matthew could see compassion in their dark depths. Thankfully, he didn't see pity. She was too strong a person to pity anyone, and he was very glad of it. Mary had always been the type to shy away from strong emotion of any kind. He could see that his sadness was eating at her. If he knew Mary, she was about to make good her escape from his doleful presence.

"Would you like some tea? I would."

The forced brightness of her voice spoke volumes. Mary, strong, undauntable, untouchable Mary, was losing her composure. Somehow, Matthew found himself unable to think of his own despair when Mary was so clearly hurting. If they had been alone he would have been tempted to open his arms to her, to ask her to embrace him as she had once been willing to do back when there was still a chance for them.

"Thank you for telling me," he spoke to her retreating back. She turned back to look at him, her mask nearly crumbling as her face clearly revealed the fear she was fighting against. "I know I'm blubbering, but, I mean it. I'd much rather know."

Suddenly, the mask was in place again, her voice unnaturally cheerful. His Mary was so dauntless.

"Blubber all you like. And, then, when Lavinia's here, you can make plans."

With a final, prim nod of her head, she turned her back on him, and strode quickly down the row of beds towards the ward exit.

That was it, the limit of her endurance. Mary tried her best to remain composed until she could find a moment of solitude, but her face began to crumble before she had taken ten steps away from Matthew's bedside. By the time she emerged out into the fresh air of the hospital's garden, she was sobbing uncontrollably, nearly unable to breathe for the pressure in her chest. She doubled over against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her middle as if to prevent herself from breaking apart.

Suddenly, big, warm hands wrapped around her shoulders, and strong arms pulled her into a comforting embrace.

"Mary, my darling girl, what is it?" her father's worried voice spoke into her hair. "I just arrived, and Matthew told me I should check on you. He's worried about you."

Mary laughed hysterically at the ridiculous notion of Matthew being worried about _her _after the news he had just received. He was too good, a veritable saint.

"What happened, Mary?"

"Oh, Papa, it was awful!" Mary cried. "I didn't want to be the one to tell him...but he wouldn't allow me to put him off. The look on his face...Oh, Papa!"

Mary clutched her father fiercely, beginning to cry anew. The desperate wails escaping her sounded barely human. She almost couldn't believe they were coming from her own mouth. She was shaking, trembling, uncontrollably as she wept seemingly hundreds of bitter tears.

Soon, her tears slowed, and her sobs softened into gentle hiccups. She became aware of her father's hands moving stiffly, but comfortingly, over her back, and his soothing voice in her ear.

"There, there, my darling girl. My brave girl."

He reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief, which he placed in Mary's hand.

"Dry your tears, now. I'll walk you to the car."

"But, Papa, Matthew..."

"I'll stay with Matthew until dinner time. Lavinia can take over after that. You need to go home now and get some rest. You can return to your nursing duties in the morning."

Mary nodded automatically, entirely too exhausted from her outburst to argue. Her father was right. She needed rest, and time alone, to regroup, to gather her strength and courage to face to days ahead. Everything would look better after a good night's rest. When she saw Matthew again, she would be able to remain strong for him. She must.

* * *

Lord Grantham re-entered the hospital after seeing Mary securely on her way back to Downton Abbey. He was stunned by her loss of control. He had never seen Mary break down like that before. His heart ached for his daughter, as well as for the young man, almost a son to him, whom he now had to face.

He approached Matthew's bed slowly, buying himself time to secure his own tenuous composure.

"Is Mary alright?" Matthew asked as soon as the older gentleman was beside him, causing Lord Grantham's heart to clench anew. Mary had as good as told him he would never walk again, and he was concerned for her well being more than his own. They were two young people in love if he ever saw such. If only they had been able to work things out while there was still some happiness to be had for them.

_There might even have been an heir by now._

Robert sighed deeply, but assured Matthew that Mary was well and on her way back home for some much-needed rest. Matthew nodded, happy that Mary was being seen to. He couldn't help worrying for her. He had never seen such a look in her eyes before. It was almost as if the light had suddenly gone out of them. She would be alright, of course. Mary was always alright.

Dr. Clarkson approached them then, spouting off the necessary pleasantries to their prestigious guest.

"Clarkson, I wonder if you might erect those screens once more. I would like as much privacy as possible under the circumstances."

"Of course, Lord Grantham," the doctor agreed, understanding perfectly the Earl's reasons for securing some privacy for the young man. "Right away."

When, at last, they were securely hidden from prying eyes behind the sterile white screens, Lord Grantham opened his mouth to begin, only to be interrupted by Matthew's hoarse voice.

"Robert, why do I get the feeling that we are about to discuss the future of the entail?"

Lord Grantham was stunned mute. He could only stare at Matthew with his mouth open, unsure how to respond.

"I shall spare you the trouble of telling me that I will never reproduce, and inform you that I have surmised as much. You see, my legs aren't the only parts of my anatomy I can no longer feel."

"I'm so sorry, my dear chap," Robert offered weakly, hanging his head in defeat. "I assure you, I didn't come here to discuss the future of the estate. Mary made me swear, on pain of death, that I would not mention it."

Matthew managed a small laugh at this. His smile faded as the realization that Mary clearly knew everything that his paralysis entailed before he did intruded. No wonder she had been so hesitant to speak of it.

"I've come to discuss _your_ future," Robert continued. "You do still have one, you know."

Matthew laughed humorlessly as his eyes darted everywhere but Robert's face, once again trying to hold back very un-masculine tears. Of course, there wasn't much that was masculine about him anymore, so why bother?

"Robert, would it be terribly ungrateful of me to say that I wish I didn't have one?"

"I wouldn't say things like that in front of Mary, if I were you, Matthew. I don't think the fact that you're lying in a hospital bed would prevent _her_ from slapping some sense into you. I'm afraid I don't quite have her determination."

"I know I should refrain from _saying_ such things, but I can hardly keep from _thinking_ them," Matthew continued. "I have nothing, absolutely nothing, left to look forward to. My life may as well have ended in that shell hole. I envy William his easy out."

Lord Grantham waited in silence for several moments, allowing Matthew the chance to speak further, if he so desired. He couldn't approve of the young man's attitude, but wasn't about to chastise him for it. Matthew should be allowed to grieve the dreams he had lost, but Robert wanted to make it clear that such an attitude would only be tolerated for a limited time.

"Well, if you're quite finished now, Matthew, I suggest we speak of more pleasant things for a while. I've hardly seen you these past three years. I will admit that I've missed having you around. Your help with running the estate was more valuable than I credited before you left. It was very sorely missed. I do hope you will be willing to work with me again, as soon as you're back on your...as soon as you can travel."

Robert cringed internally at his near slip. Matthew was laughing that disconcerting, maddening, humorless laugh again. Robert would have liked to have offered him a handkerchief to dry his now very wet face, but was sure Matthew would rather he pretended not to notice his tears.

"Robert, I appreciate your effort, truly I do," Matthew spoke quietly. "But I think what I really need right now is time to think. Since you, and apparently Mary, are so adamant that I have a future, I should probably start deciding what I should do with it."

Lord Grantham nodded silently. He wished that Matthew might discuss his thoughts for the future with him, but accepted that he didn't wish to, at least not yet. Patting the young man encouragingly on the shoulder, Robert rose to go, leaving Matthew alone with his thoughts.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, he knows now. :'( At least that's over with. Don't put away your hankies just yet though. A fresh one might be in order for next time.

I know that, so far, these chapters have been more missing, or extended, scenes than AU. I'll get to that. For now, I thought it was important to set the stage for the AU portion by detailing both Matthew's and Mary's thoughts and feelings leading up to the eventual "point" of the story. Something very AU will happen next time, though, so stay tuned!

Thanks for reading! Now go find some fluff to read. I know you need it. :)


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Robert handed his hat and gloves to Carson and strode straight to the liquor cabinet in the library to pour himself a drink. It was still early in the day for whisky, but he was in dire need of fortification. He hoped they'd have something even stronger at the hospital for Matthew.

_God only knows what that poor boy is suffering._

After tossing back his drink, Robert made his way upstairs and down the hallway towards Mary's room. He had been more than a little alarmed by her breakdown that afternoon, and wanted to make sure she was well. Pushing the door open only a crack, he smiled sadly at the sight of Mary's fully-clothed form lying curled up on top of the counterpane, deeply asleep.

Leaving Mary to her much-needed rest, Robert made his way back downstairs in search of the solitude of his library. He was still growing used to the sounds of recovering soldiers amusing themselves just on the other side of the screen, but it was the most he could hope for in terms of quiet and serenity. He certainly had a great deal more privacy than Matthew, who was likely in much greater need of it, had. Robert wondered if Lavinia had gone back over to sit with him yet.

On a sudden impulse, Robert rang for Carson.

"Yes, milord," the stoic butler greeted him.

"Carson, please ask Branson to bring the car back into town to collect Miss Swire whenever she is ready. We cannot allow her to stay at Crawley House with no one but Mosely and Mrs. Byrd there."

"Of course, milord," Carson consented. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, Carson. Thank you."

Carson bowed and set about carrying out his orders, leaving Robert to nurse another glass of whisky.

* * *

Mary awoke from her dreamless slumber to thoughts of Matthew. A glance in the direction of the window told her that night had fallen while she slept. Her father had surely returned by that time. She wanted to find him, to ask how Matthew had been when he left him at the hospital. She hated the thought of Matthew being left alone to languish in his grief, but was able to find a small amount of consolation in the thought that Lavinia would probably want to remain with him, at least until he fell safely asleep. Mary knew that, if he had been hers, she wouldn't have left his side for a moment, not for anything.

She was just pulling herself into a sitting position when Anna bustled into the room, a look of deep concern on her pretty face.

"I'm glad to see you're awake, milady," the young maid spoke.

"Anna, is something wrong?" Mary asked.

"Miss Swire arrived a few minutes ago, Lady Mary. I just helped her into her nightclothes, and..."

"Yes?" Mary prodded.

"She seemed very down, milady. By the time I finished assisting her, she was nearly in tears. I thought I should tell you, that you might wish to go to her."

Mary sighed deeply, her first thought being to wonder why Lavinia was there at the Abbey instead of at the hospital offering Matthew the comfort and support he needed. She understood that the situation was deeply distressing, but, surely, the girl could summon enough fortitude to be there for her fiance when he needed her. Her second thought was frustration at the prospect of, once again, being called upon to offer comfort to someone in distress when she clearly had no talent for comforting. Nevertheless, Lavinia was a guest in her home, and looking in on her was the right thing to do.

Mary gently tapped on the door to the guest bedroom in which Lavinia had been placed, cringing in both discomfort and sympathy at the soft sobs and hiccups emanating from within.

Lavinia was sitting in the middle of the bed, shoulders slumped in defeat, weeping softly to herself. She looked up and seemed to compose herself a little when Mary entered.

"You're awake," she greeted Mary as cheerfully as she could under the circumstances. "I hope you had a good rest."

"Yes, thank you," Mary answered. "Are you alright?"

"Matthew's told me to go home," Lavinia spoke, glad to be able to share her troubles with someone. "He says he won't see me again, that he has to 'set me free,' as he put it."

Mary was frozen in place by Lavinia's words. Of all the possible outcomes she had gone over in her mind, this wasn't something she had predicted. For the moment, she didn't know how to feel about it, or what to think.

"I tried to tell him I don't care, but he won't listen," Lavinia continued.

"Then you must keep telling him," Mary admonished gently, but with great conviction. Matthew was a man worth fighting for, regardless of his physical limitations. Lavinia would be a fool to give him up, no matter the obstacle. Mary knew first hand what it felt like to feel forced to give him up. It wasn't worth it, not for any reason. And Matthew _needed_ the comfort Lavinia could give. Surely she could see that.

"Yes, but, you see, it isn't just not walking," Lavinia elaborated. "Today he told me we could never be lovers because all that's gone as well. I didn't realize... it's probably obvious to anyone with a brain, but I didn't realize."

Mary almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. Lavinia was going to allow Matthew to send her away. She was accepting defeat. She wouldn't fight for him because, on some level, she agreed with him. That was something Mary never expected, not from someone as good as Lavinia.

"No. No, nor did I," Mary responded automatically, knowing she needed to give a response to Lavinia's statement. It was true that she _hadn't_ realized until her father had told her, but her mind was preoccupied with other matters. Lavinia was giving him up. He had sent Lavinia away, and Lavinia was going. That meant...he was all hers.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still aware that Lavinia continued to speak.

"...and he feels it would be a crime to tie me down - to tie down any woman down - to the life of a childless nun. He thinks I'd hate him in the end."

Mary knew she was behaving rudely, but she couldn't care. Her mind was reeling with the possible implications for her own life and future - a future with Matthew that she thought she had lost a long time ago. Was this her second chance? to love him, to be with him? to call him her own? The price for the fulfillment of her heart's desire was heavy indeed, but she would accept the unexpected blessing without hesitation.

Lavinia's sudden apology brought Mary back from her hopeful musings. She managed to remain in the present long enough to offer the distraught girl some conciliatory words, which she was able to offer genuinely. Lavinia was a sweet young lady, and she liked her very much. Mary's heart was not so hard as to remain unmoved by the girl's disappointment. Mary was now confident, however, that she loved Matthew on a far deeper and more lasting level than Lavinia did if she were willing to give him up so easily. Of course Mary wanted to make love to Matthew, but he was so much more than that to her. Her passion for him was born out of a deep-seated admiration and respect for his cleverness, kindness, loyalty, and that vibrant, effervescent spirit that she knew would re-emerge some day. On top of his already impeccable qualities, he was now a war hero, and deserved to be treated with the upmost care and consideration. She would be the one to do it. She would be the one to offer him the tender loving care that that he had so dearly earned.

She could see their lives stretched before them in perfect companionship and harmony, there at Downton Abbey. When he, one day, became the Earl, she would be his right hand, helping him to run his estate and carry out his duties as Earl with dignity and grace. True, they would never have children to fill their lives with joy, but they would, somehow, find a way to fill the void. They would find Matthew's heir and, perhaps, he could be to Matthew what Matthew was to her father. She was confident that they could make it work, that they could still find happiness with each other. There had to be a way.

A stab of fear sliced through her as thoughts of the possible scandal intruded. It was entirely possible that Matthew would never speak to her again after he found out what she did. Disappointment and worry hung around her neck like a millstone, putting the breaks on her grand planning for the future. She would have to play it by ear over the next weeks until she could be more sure about the details, but she was going to have Matthew as part of her future life no matter how that happened.

It suddenly occurred to her that, if Lavinia was there at the Abbey, Matthew was all alone at the hospital. Mary quickly dashed downstairs to collect her coat and gloves before walking briskly to the garage, where she found Branson just closing up for the night.

"Branson, I know it's late and you're getting ready to retire, but I need you to take me to the hospital," she ordered.

"Sure thing, milady," the amiable chauffeur nodded, opening the door to help her in.

Mary slipped quietly into the hospital. It was dark, and, except for the occasional cough or moan, it was quiet. She made her way slowly to Matthew's side, but stopped short at the sight she found there.

Matthew lay weeping quietly on the bed, his body shaking with the force of his sobs, and his lips pressed tightly together to prevent any sound from escaping. He merely stared in her direction as she approached, his glistening eyes piercingly blue in the dim light.

Mary made her way swiftly across the room to the supply cabinet. She found what she needed for a sleeping draught, and carried the small cup back to Matthew's bed. Cradling his head in one hand, she gently encouraged him to drink, which he did, grateful for the offered escape. Mary seated herself beside him in the chair that was still positioned beside his bed, and firmly grasped his hand where it lay beside him on the blanket. Matthew surprised her by lifting the hand that held his and holding it tightly against his chest. By the time she found a handkerchief in her pocket with which to dry his tears, his wracking sobs had turned into deep, heavy breaths. She watched as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and eventually closed.

* * *

Mary was awakened at dawn by Dr. Clarkson's gentle nudge.

"Have you been here all night, Lady Mary?" he asked.

"Part of it," she answered, her voice thick from sleep. "I slept for several hours yesterday evening before I came back, so I'll be fine."

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?" the doctor offered.

"Yes, please," she accepted gratefully, knowing she would need a clear head when Matthew awakened.

She glanced up at his sleeping face then. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, and she was immensely glad of it. The sight of him lying there, her strong, brave soldier, weeping so desperately had nearly shattered her heart. It was a sad spectacle she would ensure was never repeated.

Mary's hand still rested under his where it lay on his firm chest. She had given in to exhaustion in the small hours of the morning and rested her head on the edge of his bed, refusing to deprive him of the small comfort she had found herself happily able to offer him. She had been so immensely gratified and touched when he had grasped her hand like a lifeline that she was quickly rethinking her qualms about being asked to offer comfort. Perhaps it wasn't so difficult after all, at least with Matthew, for she, too, had taken comfort from the contact.

After quietly sipping her coffee, and nibbling on the toast Dr. Clarkson had also brought her, Mary rose and made her way to the hospital's bathroom to refresh herself. She splashed cold water on her face and tucked a few escaped tendrils of hair back into place. Deciding she was presentable enough, she made her way back to Matthew's bedside.

His eyes were just fluttering open when she approached.

"Good morning, Matthew," she greeted him with a smile, not having to put on a false veneer of cheer on this morning. Somehow, waking by his side had done wonderful things for her disposition, despite the awkward position she had slept in.

"Mary," he answered groggily.

"Are you hungry? I'll see if I can find some breakfast for you."

With that, she bustled away to fetch a tray for him. Dr. Clarkson had recommended light, easily digested foods for the time being, as the pain medication was likely to set his stomach on edge. She also carried a small dose of strong-smelling liquid with her that, she assumed, was the pain medication Clarkson had warned her about.

Matthew was grimacing and shifting uncomfortably in the bed when she returned.

"Does your back hurt you?" she asked kindly.

Seeing his nod, she offered him the small glass cup.

"Take this. It will help with the pain."

She propped his pillow up behind him as best she could, helping him sit just enough to get some food into him. Mary broke the toast into small pieces and dropped them into the broth, which she then shoveled spoonful by spoonful into his mouth. He took what she offered him mechanically, not protesting, but with his mind obviously engaged elsewhere. She wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin when he had finished his breakfast, and left to return the tray to the kitchen.

Matthew was beginning to emerge from the fog of his drug-induced slumber. He had a vague image of Mary sitting by his side in the dark, but he couldn't be sure. It seemed like a dream. She was there again, tending to him so kindly. It was utterly baffling.

If he wasn't already confused enough, Mary's cheerful announcement that it was time for his bath caused his brows to shoot up to his hairline. Surely _she_ didn't intend to...But she remained after the orderlies had erected the privacy screens around his bed and she had fetched clean towels and a basin of warm, soapy water. He continued to look at her expectantly, scarcely believing she, the great Lady Mary Crawley, was about to lower herself to give him a sponge bath. Never in a million years had he ever imagined the like.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, Matthew," she chided when she noticed his disbelieving appearance. "I told you I was to be your nurse. Who else did you suppose would do this?"

He offered no answer to her question, but forced his brow to relax as much as possible. That was, until her fingers began working the buttons of his pajama shirt.

It amazed him that, even in his half-dead state, the slight ghosting of her fingers across his chest and abdomen caused gooseflesh to appear on every inch of his body that he could feel. He wondered about the part he couldn't feel, as well.

"I'm sorry if you're cold," Mary offered, noticing and, fortunately, mistaking his reaction. "The water's quite warm."

Mary pulled the soiled shirt down his arms, then turned to drape it over the back of the chair. He stretched a bit then, and she couldn't help watching the rippling of the muscles of his chest and belly as he moved. Worried that he would see her gawking, she quickly assumed a professional mean, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

Matthew suddenly found himself blushing scarlet as he realized what her next objective would be. It amazed him that he could see any humor at all in anything at this point, but he was unable to stop the rueful laugh that bubbled up in his chest. How often had he imagined Mary's slender fingers hooking under the waistband of his trousers, drawing them eagerly down his hips. It was cruelly ironic that he was now going to experience his fantasy, though hardly the way he had imagined it. Not to mention, the prospect of his prim and proper _lady_ of a cousin performing such a task was downright comical. Matthew was quickly reaching the place where everything was just so damned awful that there was nothing left to do but laugh at the sad humor in it all.

Mary was heartened to hear him laughing, though she quickly realized it wasn't a happy laugh so much as a hysterical one. Still, it was better than him shedding tears. She would try to encourage his lightened mood.

"What, may I ask, is so funny?"

"Oh, nothing at all, _Lady_ Mary. I was just waiting to see if you were planning on bathing all of me, or if you think because I can't feel my lower half, I won't mind if it remains unwashed." He raised one eyebrow, challenging her to proceed.

"I don't know what you're talking about, _Captain_ Crawley," she responded cooly. "And that's _Nurse_ Mary to you."

Mary's hands moved to draw the blanket from his body, but she stopped short when she saw the mischievous look he was giving her. It reminded her very much of the Matthew she had known all those years ago, before the war and their terrible misunderstanding had changed him.

"I know this game, Matthew," she admonished with a sly smile of her own. "You're trying to ruffle my feathers, but it won't work. I shan't allow you to disrupt my professional performance with your cheeky ways."

Matthew couldn't help but smile genuinely at her charming playfulness. It was truly amazing, almost unbelievable, but Mary was lightening his mood - something he hadn't thought possible only a few moments ago. His Mary was truly a wonder - a woman in a million.

He groaned and covered his eyes with his hands as she started tugging at his pajama pants and undergarments.

"Well, this is convenient," he spoke, more out of embarrassment than anything. "If I close my eyes I have no idea what's going on down there, and I can just remain blissfully ignorant."

Mary laughed at his ramblings, and pulled on one of his wrists.

"You can relax now, Matthew," she encouraged, draping the remainder of his soiled garments over the back of the chair.

"Oh," he observed, looking down to find his lower half covered mostly by the blankets again, with a towel draped over the important parts.

Mary was shaking her head in fond amusement. She was so immeasurably glad that he was in good spirits. It was more than she had thought to hope for.

The remainder of the task went smoothly. Mary wiped his skin clean with the warm, soapy water before changing the dressings on his more severe cuts and applying fresh antiseptic to each and every scrape.

Matthew actually found that he enjoyed Mary's ministrations, if he could ignore the terrible humiliation of the notion that Mary was giving him a sponge bath. The warm water felt very pleasant, and her touch was gentle and soothing. In leu of fully wetting his head, she ran her wet fingers through his hair, a sensation that he liked incredibly well, before combing it neatly in place. After he was clean and dry, she helped him into fresh pajamas and bustled busily away to discard the soiled water and linens. The screens were removed, and, with them, much of Matthew's improved spirits. In his little bubble of solitude with Mary had had been able to, not exactly _forget_, but to cope with things as they were for a moment. Unfortunately, the moment had passed, and he felt himself sinking into disappointment and frustration all over again.

* * *

**A/N: **Looks like things are finally starting to take shape! Mary's resolve is formed, and we got to see a bit of the developing closeness between M/M that will be a big part of the remainder of the story. Mary's gaining confidence in her ability to comfort Matthew in the ways he needs it. Next time: Isobel arrives; Mary continues to nurse Matthew back to health, and (occasionally) better spirits, and becomes more determined than ever.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

Having completed all necessary tasks for the moment, Mary seated herself at Matthew's side, hoping to draw him into conversation. It bothered her to see his moods swing so precipitously, but she reminded herself that she shouldn't be surprised by it. It was to be expected at that point in his recovery process. His mind and heart, as well as his body, would be well, in time.

As much as she would have preferred to distract him with cheerful, or even mundane, topics, she knew that Lavinia would have to be discussed sooner or later. Before she could make any further plans in regards to her own future with Matthew, she needed to know if there was any chance at all that he would regret Lavinia - if there was a chance he might change his mind and ask her to return.

At least, that was the plan before the nausea hit.

Mary was fortunate that there was a clean bedpan at hand, or all her efforts at bathing Matthew would have been for naught. It took all her strength to hold him in a partial sitting position for several minutes as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the bedpan. By the end, he was shaking and gasping for breath.

"Do you think that was all?" Mary asked softly, lying him gently back against the pillow.

Matthew nodded weakly, still fighting for each breath.

Mary gently wiped his mouth with a clean cloth before pressing his hand where it lay on his heaving chest.

"I'll go and get rid of the mess. I'll just be a moment," she spoke softly before collecting the soiled bedpan, dumping it in the designated area out back, and replacing it with fresh one.

"Do you feel any better now?" she asked once she had seated herself, once again, at Matthew's side.

"I suppose," he offered with a shrug.

After several moments of silence, Mary decided to ask him, indirectly, about what was on her mind.

"I saw Lavinia last night. She was terribly upset that you sent her away."

"She's better off in London."

"If you say so," Mary replied, selfishly not wishing to argue him out of his decision.

"Do you know why I sent her away?" he asked sullenly.

"I think so," she answered with a small nod.

"Then you know I couldn't marry her, not now. I couldn't marry any woman."

He looked so desperately sad, Mary wished she could comfort him somehow. Her heart broke for his suffering. Matthew was such a companionable, tenderhearted person with so much love in his heart to give. It must be dreadful for him to feel like he would never be able to give it to anyone ever again. Her heart was so full of love for him in that moment she felt it would burst inside her chest. If only he could know that she would give anything to be with him, even then.

"And if they should just want to be with you? on any terms?" she asked hopefully, willing him to see the sincerity in her eyes.

"No one sane would want to be with me as I am now," he answered sadly, "including me."

Mary's heart contracted again at his last sentiment, and, for a moment she feared he would begin weeping again. He was destroying her heart, rending it bit by bit, with his own heartbreak. His pain was hers, and she could only hope that, by taking some of it upon herself, she could lighten his load.

She was soon obliged to dash for the clean bedpan again when the nausea overwhelmed him once more, though there was very little remaining in his stomach after the first round of vomiting.

After, she was surprised, and slightly gladdened, to hear him laughing again as she dabbed the sick from the corners of his mouth.

"What is it?" she asked, wondering where he could possibly find the humor in repeated episodes of vomiting.

"I was just thinking, it seems like such a short time ago that I turned you down, and now look at me. Impotent, crippled, sticking of sick...Quite the reversal. You have to admit, it's quite funny."

Mary had to fight the urge to physically shake some sense into him. Of course, it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all, and she was mildly angry at him for saying so. She consoled herself with the knowledge that there would come a time when she would enumerate for him all he still had to offer a woman - to offer her. It being neither the time nor the place for such a discussion, she forced herself to temper her reaction.

"All I'll admit is that you're here, and you survived the war. That's enough for now."

Feeling the need for a moment to herself to quell the rising tide of emotions within her, Mary was happy for the need to, once again, fetch a clean bedpan.

She was immeasurably relieved when she turned to see Isobel standing in the doorway.

"You're back!" she greeted the older woman happily. "He'll be so pleased."

Isobel was quite surprised by what she had witnessed upon entering the ward. When Dr. Clarkson had told her her how devotedly Mary had been caring for Matthew since his arrival, she could scarcely believe it. After seeing it with her own eyes, she was overcome with gratitude and admiration for the young woman. It was a tremendous relief to know that someone had been there for her son, to care for him and comfort him, while she was away.

"You've become quite a nurse since I last saw you," she acknowledged, fighting the emotion that threatened to overcome her.

"It's nothing," Mary answered automatically. "Sybil's the nurse in this family."

"It's the very opposite of nothing," Isobel insisted feelingly before moving toward her son's bedside, her heart lodged in her throat.

"Mother," Matthew greeted her as she stood beside him, his voice thick with unshed tears.

She tried to smile encouragingly, but he began to sob pitifully regardless.

It was worse than she had ever imagined, the deep despair etched on her handsome son's battered face. Clarkson had appraised her of his situation, of all the sordid details of his injury. Pulling her handkerchief from her pocket, she quickly went to his side, seating herself on the edge of the bed. Matthew immediately reached for her, squeezing her hand almost painfully in both of his. She used her free hand to dry his tears, though it would be several minutes before they would cease to flow.

"There, there. My darling boy," she soothed, "Mother's here. All is well."

"Mother, why didn't I marry her when I had the chance?"

It was the last thing Isobel had expected Matthew to say. She could only sit, open-mouthed, as he continued to speak between sobs.

"Why was I such an idiot? Why didn't you tell me I was being a fool? I should have fought for her, made her love me. I love her. I love her so much, Mother. And it hurts. Oh, God, it hurts so much."

Isobel didn't have to ask who it was of which he spoke, for the look of longing in her son's glassy eyes as the lady herself approached them told her all she needed to know.

Mary was deeply concerned to see Matthew in tears again. She was carrying a tray with some peppermint tea and two slices of toast, hoping to settle his stomach enough for him to try another dose of the pain medication. She moved quickly to perch on the side of the bed opposite Isobel, balancing the tray on her lap.

"Matthew, please try to eat something," she encouraged. "You'll feel much better if we can get some sustenance in you."

To Isobel's surprise, Matthew seemed to compose himself at the sound of Mary's authoritative tone, and he nodded his head in consent. She watched as Mary helped him prop up on the pillows before offering him the cup of peppermint tea, then a small bite of toast. Isobel held her son's hands quietly as she watched Mary feed him, her heart breaking for both their sakes.

"How do you feel now, Matthew?," Mary asked after he had taken all that she offered him. "Nauseous at all?"

Matthew thought for a moment before shaking his head in the negative.

"Would you like to try another dose of the pain medication?" Mary asked.

"No," he answered. "It's manageable."

Seeing that his eyes were becoming increasingly heavy, Mary encouraged him to take a nap. Mary sighed deeply as he quickly drifted off into a peaceful slumber, feeling like she could use a nap herself.

"Mary, why don't you go home and rest for the evening," Isobel encouraged. "I'll stay with Matthew."

"But you've only just stepped off the train. Won't you need to rest from your journey?" Mary asked.

"I can manage until tonight, I think," Isobel answered.

"Isobel, someone will either need to remain with him overnight, or administer a sleeping draught before leaving him alone."

The concern in Mary's eyes troubled Isobel.

"I gather that wasn't the first time he broke down like that," she observed to the younger woman.

"No, I'm afraid it isn't. Last night I came in late to find him in a similar state. He's taking it very hard, I'm afraid. Of course, I can't blame him. Yesterday he broke off his engagement to Lavinia. She was to take the train back to London this morning."

"Oh, my," Isobel sighed. "I must say, I'm disappointed she allowed him to send her away. I thought her more devoted to him than that. It wouldn't be the first time I was wrong, though."

Mary nodded in agreement, glad that she wasn't the only one to have doubts about the depth of Lavinia's devotion to Matthew.

"I'm glad he has you here for him, Mary," Isobel offered sincerely. "I mean it. Thank you."

"Please, don't thank me, Isobel," Mary protested. "For all that I've wronged him so dreadfully in the past, I've always cared very deeply for him."

"I know, my dear," Isobel answered. "You wouldn't be here right now if you didn't."

Mary nodded sadly, her eyes resting of Matthew's relaxed face.

"Go and get some rest now," Isobel encouraged her again. "Perhaps you can return at supper time and we can all share a meal right here."

Isobel smiled kindly at the young woman who was so obviously in love with her son, glad to see Mary's eyes light up at her suggestion.

"I would like that. Thank you," Mary accepted before rising to go.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Mary turned and addressed Isobel on her way out. "If he starts to feel warm, there's a thermometer in the supply cabinet. You should check his temperature to make sure he isn't taking an infection. He has several deep cuts that we still need to watch. I cleaned them and applied fresh dressings this morning, and they seem fine so far, but just to be sure."

"Of course, dear," Isobel answered, amused, but pleased, by Mary's dedication to her nursing duties.

"Oh, and he has on clean pajamas now, but the bed sheets will need to be changed soon. Perhaps you can help me with that when I return."

"Very well, Mary," Isobel replied indulgently, smiling at Mary's reluctance to leave her charge.

Mary glanced back at Matthew's sleeping form one last time before finally relenting and making her way towards the hospital exit. Rather than telephoning home for the car to be sent for her, she decided to walk. The fresh air and sunshine would surely lift her spirits considerably.

While making her way through the town, she noticed several sideways glances in her direction. Neighbors would whisper to each other and turn away from her as she walked past. It was very odd.

_Oh, no. Not that! Not yet! _

Mary picked up her pace, eager to be out of the town and at home where she could find out exactly what was going on. She hadn't even warned her father to be expecting her story to be printed. He was going to be furious, she was sure. And her mother! Her mother would be beside herself. Edith would never let her live it down. Granny would be so disappointed in her, and already busying herself with damage control. And Sybil...well, who really knew how Sybil would react. She could be so unpredictable. _Matthew_...he would know soon. Oh, God, how was she ever going to face him again!

Carson opened the door for Mary and took her effects from her with his usual stoic mask firmly in place, but she knew the fatherly butler well enough to know something was amiss.

"What is it Carson?" she asked nervously, knowing very well what the answer would be, but dreading the confirmation, all the same.

"Your father awaits your presence in the library, milady," was all the answer she received.

With a deep breath and her head held high, Mary made her way to the library to face her fate.

* * *

Matthew awoke an hour or so after falling asleep to find that both his mother and Mary were no longer seated next to him. He was almost glad. It was hard to think with others constantly hovering over him, not that thinking did him any good. It led to episodes like the one that had so exhausted him earlier that day. Matthew was sure he had shed more tears in the past twenty-four hours than in his entire adult life put together. It was probably time he put a stop to such nonsense. Crying like a child certainly wasn't going to bring the use of his legs back.

"You're Captain Crawley, right?"

Matthew turned his head in the direction of the voice, to see that he was being addressed by the soldier in the bed next to his.

"Yes, that's right," he answered. "And you are?"

"Phillips, Lieutenant Andrew Phillips," the man answered.

"Nice to know you, Lieutenant Phillips," Matthew answered politely, though he could feel his face growing red at the thought that this man had been witness to all his moments of weakness.

"Thank you, Sir," the young man responded, glancing uneasily down at the newspaper in his hands. "Well, Sir...I was just wondering...isn't that Lady Mary Crawley who comes up here to sit with you?"

"Yes," Matthew answered hesitantly, unsure of the other man's reasons for asking about Mary. "She's a cousin and a dear friend. Why do you ask?"

"You might want to see this, Sir," Lieutenant Phillips spoke quietly, reaching across the space between the beds to hand Matthew the gossip column of the newspaper he had been reading.

Matthew scanned the page until he found Mary's name, quickly reading over the short article that linked her name to a certain foreign diplomat that he remembered all too well.

"My God," he breathed in shock.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, there you have it! Time to get going with the AU part of the story.

A big thanks to everyone who reviewed! I don't have time to reply to each one individually - well, not if I plan to finish the story, anyway :) - but I do read and appreciate each and every one.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

Mary lay curled up on her side under the covers of her bed as she watched the sun slowly descend over the horizon just beyond her window. If the day hadn't suddenly gone so horribly awry, she would have been down at the hospital taking supper with Isobel and Matthew by that time.

_Oh, Matthew. _

Mary sighed deeply at the thought of him. She missed him dreadfully already. It hurt deeply to think that he might not want her to be his nurse anymore after her story became known to him, and it was too much to hope that he would remain ignorant.

Her father had been furious, as she predicted, though not for the reasons she had anticipated. She had expected him to chastise her for her behavior, but he hadn't. He was more angry at Mrs. Bates for being spiteful enough to sell the story in the first place. He was also angry at whoever it was in his own household that caused the story to fall into the wrong hands. Mary didn't have the heart to tell him it was Edith.

Both her mother and her father had agreed that, because of the turmoil caused by the war, the scandal wouldn't be as difficult, or as lengthy, to weather as it might have been had the story surfaced before the war. They were all fortunate in that regard. It was only a couple sentences in the gossip columns, after all. There were no pictures or lengthy or detailed descriptions of sordid details. It was entirely possible that the scandal would blow over quickly. Lady Grantham did offer Mary the option of traveling to America, where she could stay with her maternal grandmother, to start over or to simply wait out the end of the scandal. Mary's thoughts immediately filled with Matthew. She couldn't bear to leave him, not when she felt she had only just gotten him back. It would be too cruel.

She decided that no permanent plans could be made until she knew what Matthew's reaction to the situation was, and how far-reaching the consequences of the scandal would be. Mary was grateful to her parents for allowing her to make the decision for herself, rather than trying to force her in one direction or another. If they had taken that attitude, she was certain they would be booking her passage to America at that very moment.

Mary was greatly surprised when Anna entered her room to inform her that Isobel was on the telephone for her. She hoped that Matthew was alright. It suddenly occurred to her that, if they hadn't heard the news yet, she would appear terribly rude for simply failing to show up for their supper engagement. Mary quickly pulled herself out of the bed and made her way downstairs to take the call.

"Hello, Isobel," she answered with no small amount of trepidation.

"Mary, dear, I can only assume you've missed our supper engagement due to some distressing news," Isobel's kind voice came in over the line.

Mary sighed deeply. Apparently they knew.

"Yes, I...I wasn't sure Matthew would want to see me..."

"Oh, nonsense," Isobel interrupted. "Do you really think he would disown you so easily over a bit of idle gossip? On the contrary, he's asking about you."

Mary's heart warmed considerably at the thought of Matthew asking for her. Still, her humiliation was too fresh for her to even consider stepping foot out of her bedroom again, at least until the next morning. Everything always looked better after a good night's rest.

"Please tell him I'm well, but I would prefer to retire early tonight. It's been a trying day. You can tell him...I'll see him in the morning."

"Very well," Isobel consented. "I understand you've received a shock, but I, and I'm sure, Matthew, will stand by you, whatever comes of it. Your family will too, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Isobel. That means a great deal."

"What you've done for Matthew means a greater deal, Mary," Isobel spoke with conviction. "Please don't let what happened stop you from coming to see Matthew. He told me that you were actually able to make him smile earlier, to left his spirits a bit. That's what he needs more than anything now. Remember that."

Mary was deeply touched by Isobel's kind sentiments. It made her heart soar to think that Matthew had been cheered enough by her company earlier that day that he would think to tell his mother of it. If there was something she could do to help Matthew to recover, both in body and spirit, then there was nothing in the world that would keep her from his side.

"I'm so glad that I could be of help to him," she spoke as she fought back tears. "I'll be there first thing tomorrow. Please tell Matthew I said 'good night.'"

"I will, Mary. Have a pleasant rest."

"You too, Isobel. Goodbye."

After the line went dead, Mary ascended the stairs with a bit more pep in her step than she'd had when she descended. Matthew would need her again in the morning, and she was determined to be at her best, for his sake. She called for Anna to run her a hot bath, in which she languished for an inordinate amount of time, allowing the warm water to relax and restore her tired muscles. It was still early when she climbed into bed and ordered a tray of something light to eat before settling in for a good night's rest.

Before she closed her eyes to sleep, a strange thought came to her. She should pray for Matthew. It had gotten him back alive, hadn't it? It certainly couldn't hurt.

Repeating the process she had uneasily performed two or three times while he was away at the front, she knelt beside the bed and placed his photograph in front of her on the coverlet. Clasping her hands in front of her, she began to pray.

"Dear Lord," she began, "it's me again. I probably don't have any right to ask you for any more favors. I know I don't deserve any. But, if you could find it in your heart to...to be with Matthew tonight...to give him strength and courage to face the challenges life has given him, I would be most grateful. Amen."

* * *

Matthew was once again tossed to and fro on a sea of turbulent thoughts. This time, his thoughts were troubled by what he had read in the paper about Mary. His mother had admonished him not to make any judgements one way or the other without discussing it with Mary herself. He knew she was correct, of course. Still, the thought of Mary with another man was, understandably, quite painful for him, especially considering the timing of the revelation.

He was immeasurably glad, as he was sure they all should be, that the story had taken as long as it had to go to print. As it was, it was old news. If the connection had been hinted at when the death of the Turkish diplomat had been on the front page, the scandal would have been monumental in proportion. Two sentences in the gossip columns was much more manageable, and could, possibly, go unnoticed by some. Gossip would still spread, though. Mary's reputation would still be ruined by it. There were few men who would be willing to look past her loss of virtue to see the incredible woman she was. It was unlikely she would ever marry, despite her abundant charms. If she did find a man willing to take her, it was unlikely to be someone respectable, and was very likely to be someone Matthew would be loathe to see her strength and spirit wasted upon. The entire situation was deeply distressing to him.

Matthew had kindly, but firmly, refused the sleeping draught his mother had tried to thrust upon him, assuring her that sleep would find him naturally that night. He promised her that he wouldn't succumb to despair once left alone, and he intended to keep that promise. As terrible as he felt that Mary was put in such an embarrassing and painful predicament, it did help his spirits to have something to dwell on besides his bleak future and many regrets. She would be back in the morning, and he would ask her more about the situation then. He hoped that she would be able to assure him that what was said about her in the paper was only idle gossip, nothing more. However, he knew he had to prepare himself for the possibility that it was true, that Mary had given her virtue to the Turk that night. Matthew had been with a woman before - years before while in his first year of university - so it seemed foolish for him to judge Mary harshly for a sin he, himself, had been guilty of. Whatever the truth may turn out to be, he would stand by Mary, and, yes, he would still love her, too. He was convinced that nothing in the world would ever make him stop.

* * *

Mary arrived at the hospital the next morning in tolerably good spirits. She knew she would still face pointed glances and barely-concealed whispers wherever she went, but she would face much worse for Matthew's sake. She would never be completely easy until she had seen his reaction first hand, however. Would he look at her with disappointment? scorn? or, God forbid, pity? It was this worry that had her twisting her hands together nervously as she approached the white screens that, once again, concealed his bed.

Isobel emerged and greeted her with a smile.

"Dr. Clarkson's just examined Matthew's back again," the older woman informed her. "He says the external wound will heal nicely, and there are no signs of infection."

"Wonderful," Mary acknowledged with a small smile.

"Matthew's in much better spirits today," Isobel continued. "He asked the doctor if the screens could remain up for a few more moments so that the two of you might speak privately."

The color drained from Mary's face, and she could feel her heart do a flip-flop in her chest. She knew exactly why Matthew would want to speak with her privately, and she wasn't sure she was, or ever would be, equal to facing it.

"Are you quite alright, dear?" Isobel asked, seeing the young woman's trepidation.

Mary quickly forced herself to remain cool and composed, assuring Isobel that all was well - or as well as it could be under the circumstances.

Dr. Clarkson soon emerged from behind the screen, saying something about being pleased with Matthew's progress thus far, and informing Mary that her patient was ready to see her. Steadying herself with several deep inhalations, she entered the makeshift room, and immediately found herself smiling more broadly than she had in months.

"Matthew, you're sitting up!"

Matthew was nearly stunned speechless by the radiant smile Mary bestowed upon him. He drank in her indescribable beauty for a few awkward seconds before he was able to reply.

"Yes, it seems I am," he began, returning Mary's smile. "Dr. Clarkson had to assist me a good bit, but he says I should start spending some time each day sitting up to help rebuild my strength. With any luck, I may be out of this bed by the end of the week."

"Oh, Matthew, that's wonderful news! Did he say when you might be able to relocate to the Abbey?"

"He said we would see how I manage in a wheelchair in three or four days' time before deciding. They'll need the bed for more pressing cases, so I'm sure they'll kick me out as soon as can be."

"I'm so glad," Mary beamed at him, seating herself beside him on the bed. Without even thinking about what they were doing, their fingers laced together, and Mary placed their joined hands in her lap.

Matthew gazed at their joined hands for several moments as he gathered his thoughts for the conversation ahead. He wanted to give Mary the chance to explain, in her own words, what happened with Mr. Pamuk, but he wished to approach it in such a way that she wouldn't feel threatened or interrogated. Hoping to put her at ease, he began tracing slow circles on her palm with his thumb.

"Mary," he began tentatively, "first off, about the gossip column...I wanted to make sure you're alright. How are you holding up?"

Deeply touched by his concern, Mary smiled gratefully and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before answering.

"Oh, alright, I suppose. I know it would be unforgivable of me to feel sorry for myself over it after all you've had to face."

"No, Mary, you have every right to be concerned for your own sake. I'm concerned for you. You must allow me to be there for you the way you have been here for me these past...has it really only been two days?"

For several moments, both fell silent. Mary didn't have any idea what to say, so she intently studied the pattern of red bruising on the back of Matthew's knuckles.

"My mother reminded me, rather zealously, that I should thank you for all you've done for me. I am truly grateful, Mary. You've been a wonderful nurse, and a great comfort to me."

Several tears escaped Mary's strict control before she could hide them. She was forced to release Matthew's hand as she frantically wiped them away, terribly embarrassed at her weakness.

"What is it?" Matthew asked, concerned by her unexpected display of emotion. "Is it your father? How did he take the news?"

Grateful for the change in topic, Mary quickly regained her composure.

"Better than I expected, actually," she answered. "I think your injury has put things in perspective for all of us. So, I should be thanking _you_, really."

They shared a companionable laugh over this, and Matthew reached, once again, for Mary's hand.

"Always happy to be of service," he responded brightly.

Suddenly serious, Matthew decided it was time to get on with the most pertinent part of the discussion.

"About what was said in the paper...about you and Mr. Pamuk. Is it true?" he asked.

Sighing deeply, Mary merely squeezed her eyes closed and nodded in response.

She flinched at Matthew's sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" he asked in an unsteady voice.

"He came to my room late the night he died," she began in a soft tone, hoping not to be heard by anyone but Matthew. "Realizing I couldn't summon help without risking my reputation anyway, I gave in to his advances. Apparently, his heart gave out while he was still in my bed. I had to fetch Anna and Mama to help me carry him to his room."

Gathering her courage, Mary looked up at Matthew, analyzing his reaction. He appeared to be waiting for her to continue.

"That's the whole story," she clarified.

Matthew stared at the ceiling for several moments, taking steady, deliberate breaths.

"Did you love him?" he finally spoke.

"Oh, heavens, no!" Mary responded automatically. "I hardly knew him."

"Then why did you..."

"Oh, lust, I suppose," Mary hissed through tightly clenched teeth, "or a need for excitement. I was just...young and foolish, and I didn't know what I wanted or what was good for me. I regretted it immediately."

Matthew nodded soberly, accepting her explanation, and determined not to think ill of her for it. It was in the past, and she regretted it. That should be enough for him.

"Do you despise me now?" Mary asked dejectedly.

Horrified that she would ever entertain such a notion, Matthew grasped both her hands in his, waiting for her to look into his eyes before he spoke.

"Mary, I could never, _never_ despise you."

Several minutes later, when Isobel peeked behind the screen to check on the two young people, she found them chatting amiably, hands linked between them, and fond smiles on their faces. She was beyond pleased, and even a bit hopeful. Both had, and still would, face challenges in their lives, but they had each other. Perhaps there was happiness in the stars for them yet.

* * *

**A/N: **A big thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed!


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

It would have been impossible for Mary to have pretended that her story's publication wasn't affecting her at all, because it was. She knew that gossip still circulated throughout Downton village, as well as London. Her Aunt Rosamond wrote to inform her, in no uncertain terms, that she had become a favorite topic of drawing room conversation. She even noticed some of the wounded soldiers in the hospital observing her strangely as she passed their beds on her way to attend Matthew each day. Some watched her with disdain or pity, some with amusement or, most disturbingly of all, with lustful leers. As difficult as it was to endure, Matthew was always the bright spot in her day, even when he was gloomy and downcast.

Matthew's body was recovering admirably. The cuts on his face and body faded rapidly, as the pain in his back diminished. He was soon able to pull himself up into a seated position with only Mary's slight assistance, and the nausea never returned. He was eating well, sleeping decently ( the expected, regular nightmares notwithstanding), and showing all the usual signs of good physical health. Emotionally, however, he suffered still.

His frequent and dramatic mood swings worried both Mary and Isobel greatly. One could never tell which Matthew they would find upon approaching his bed, even if they had only been away for a few moments. There was the cheerful, talkative Matthew who smiled politely and made pleasant conversation with anyone who would listen. There was also the mooning, besotted Matthew that either stared silently at Mary and refused to release her hand, or, if Mary wasn't present, stared listlessly into space with a dreamy gleam in his eyes. Finally, there was the depressed, angry Matthew who either laughed hysterically at his own misfortune or struggled against burgeoning tears. Interestingly enough, the cycle seemed to repeat itself in that exact order.

Mary lived for the times when Matthew was cheerful and verbose - when he was most like the Matthew she remembered from before the war. She was a bit confused by his quiet phase, when he would stare silently at her as if the mysteries of the universe could be found hidden somewhere in the contours of her face. This Matthew made her nervous and on edge. She constantly expected him to begin asking her impossible things, like why this had to happen to him and how he was ever going to go on. She would sit patiently by his side, cradling his hand in hers, until his quiet mood inevitably gave way to bitterness or anguish, at which time she would try all she could to distract him from his grief, somehow. In time, her efforts would have the desired effect, and the cycle would begin again.

One afternoon, Mary had thought to bring several good books along with her for her shift (Isobel had insisted on helping attend her son) to read to him when he became melancholy. Matthew had never read _Pride and Prejudice_, so she decided to read it to him first. Miss Austen's lighthearted, and somewhat cheeky, style coming from Mary's lips soon had Matthew's attention, and he felt his mood beginning to lift. Seeing the effectiveness of her efforts, Mary began reading with even greater expression, going as far as to give each character a different voice. She tucked her chin and spoke in the lowest register she could muster, simulating Mr. Darcy's haughty baritone.

"_She's tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.."_

Matthew's sudden guffaw drew the attention of everyone in the ward, even Dr. Clarkson, who looked mildly concerned. Isobel came rushing from the next ward at the unexpected, and most welcome sound. She hadn't heard Matthew laugh like that in years. She merely observed her son's broad smile for a few moments, undetected, before returning to her duties with a happy smile on her face. Mary looked somewhat abashed, mildly agitated that he was laughing at her. Surely, it wasn't _that_ funny. He had drawn the attention of the entire room, and her cheeks were beginning to crimson.

"Oh, Mary!" Matthew gasped as his laughter began to ebb. "I'm sorry for going on so, but that struck me as terribly funny. You do that character far too well, I'm afraid. I could almost picture you saying that exact thing about me after we first met."

Mary's blush deepened as she looked down at the book in her hands. She had behaved rather rudely towards him in the beginning, and had, quite against her will, judgement, and reason, found herself ardently and irrevocably in love. Her own pride had caused her to lose the one she loved, and now...she could only hope that, like Mr. Darcy, she was getting her second chance.

"You read very well, Lady Mary."

Mary started as the unfamiliar voice sounded from the bed behind her, pulling her from her reverie.

"Thank you," she responded awkwardly in her surprise.

"My name's Lieutenant Phillips," the handsome young man continued. "I've also been enjoying your performance. Captain Crawley's a lucky man to have you to entertain him, and I'm lucky to have the bed next to his."

Mary smiled politely, and made amiable small talk with their friendly neighbor for several minutes before a nurse came by to check Lieutenant Phillips' temperature. She had discovered during their brief conversation that he had taken a bullet in his shoulder, and the wound had become mildly infected, but was on the mend. He, too, could expect to be released in a matter of days. She didn't ask, but wondered if he would be transferred to the Abbey.

When her eyes returned to Matthew's face, she found that he had slipped back into his silent, sullen mood. Predictably, he reached for her hand.

* * *

Two more days passed in a similar pattern. Mary would arrive in the morning to bathe, dress, and shave Matthew before leaving Isobel to attend to his breakfast and to sit with him for a couple hours before her nursing duties called her away to other patients. Mary would then return to his side to either read or talk to him until supper time. Once he had eaten, she would remain by his side for as long as it took for him to fall deeply asleep before returning home herself.

Lieutenant Phillips had initiated conversation with both her and Matthew several times during her visits, though Matthew rarely participated unless directly addressed. He always seemed to look forward to her readings, so Mary would turn her chair so that he could hear better. She didn't mind. In fact, she felt sorry for him. He hadn't had a single visitor since he'd been at the hospital, and was bound to be both lonely and bored. It was unlikely that he hadn't heard of her story, but he didn't treat her any differently than anyone else because of it. There seemed to be no reason not to be friendly towards him, except that Matthew always seemed to clam up whenever Mary's attention was turned away from him. She understood that he might be jealous, but, as much as she cared for him, he had no right to begrudge the wounded soldier next to him a bit of her time and kindness. Surely he knew, on some level, that her devotion and affection were all for him, and him alone.

One evening, after being examined by Dr. Clarkson, Drew, as he had asked them both to call him, addressed Mary directly in obvious good spirits.

"Lady Mary, I've just had good news. Dr. Clarkson says I am to be released tomorrow morning."

"Why, that's excellent news," she smiled kindly at him. "Isn't it, Matthew?"

Summoning all the strength of will he possessed, Matthew uttered a polite agreement.

"I was wondering, milady," Drew continued, "if I might prevail upon you to spare a few hours tomorrow evening to celebrate with me. If Captain Crawley can spare you, of course."

"Oh, I don't know..." Mary began haltingly.

"I don't know what kind of places you have to get a bite to eat around here, but I can think of no better way to celebrate my survival and recovery than to take a pretty lady out on a date. Won't you say yes, Lady Mary?" he concluded with a winning smile.

Mary glanced at Matthew, who was staring intently at the opposite side of the room. Her heart broke for him. He was probably wishing he could celebrate in a similar fashion, but, because of his condition, felt he never could.

"I do thank you for the offer, Drew, but I'm not sure that you should be celebrating just yet. You still have a good deal of recovering to do after you move to the Abbey, and you'll need to rest after the move," she answered tactfully.

"Very well," he reluctantly accepted, "I won't press you, milady. But, if you should change your mind - anytime - the offer stands."

Mary nodded politely before returning her attention to Matthew, who was pretending to be asleep.

Drew was off to the Abbey after breakfast the next morning. He very graciously told Matthew he hoped to see him there soon, despite Matthew's persistent gruffness towards him. He smilingly kissed Mary's hand, and bid her a temporary adieux as well, with one last reminder that his offer of a dinner out was still open.

When Mary returned to Matthew's side afterwards, he immediately reached for her hand.

"You should go with him, you know," Matthew encouraged her sadly.

"Matthew, I..."

"Mary, I have no right whatsoever to tie you down here like this. Lieutenant Phillips is...a fine man who is clearly interested in you, despite his knowledge of your scandal. I really think you should accept his invitation."

"Matthew, I won't argue with you over this," Mary responded firmly. "You have no way of knowing his intentions are honorable ones. Besides, I have no desire to be anywhere else but here."

Matthew sighed deeply, wanting to believe her reassurances, but eaten up by pain and guilt every time he thought about the life she could be missing out on because of her misguided feelings of obligation towards him.

"I wish I could believe that, Mary," he spoke, more harshly than he had intended to. "I don't need you here, you know. Mother can look after me. Sometimes I wish you wouldn't hover so. I feel like such an infant at times. Surely it cannot be pleasant for you to play nursemaid to your crippled cousin, and I wouldn't want you to be here, changing my bedpans, when you could be out dancing with Lieutenant Phillips."

"Well, believe it, because it's true," Mary snapped, her patience for his petulant moods beginning to wear thin. Tears pricked at her eyes as his words did their intended work. She wouldn't smother him, if that's what he thought she was doing.

She rose from her place on the edge of the bed, smoothing his blankets in place and collecting the book they'd finished reading from the table.

"If you don't need anything else, I think I'll go home for the day. I'm...tired, and could use some rest. I'll see you tomorrow, Matthew"

"Mary, please!" his pleading voice stopped her as she turned to go.

She turned back to see him leaning as far forward as he could on the bed, reaching out for her as if to pull her back to him.

Taking the hand he offered, she allowed him to pull her back down by his side. Fighting tears, Matthew raised Mary's hand to his lips for a series of firm kisses.

"Mary, please don't stay away," he plead. "I'm...so, so sorry I spoke to you the way I did. I am...truly grateful for everything you do for me, and your company is...well, it's what I live for now. Just think over what I said...about you seeing other men, if they offer. I meant what I said...about that."

Mary relaxed the stiff set of her shoulders, and brushed a stray lock of his hair back into place.

"I meant what I said too, Matthew," she whispered, choosing not to clarify further.

"You'll come back later, then?" he asked hopefully.

"I will," she answered.

"Good."

With one final squeeze of his hand, Mary departed, hating the necessity, but knowing she would need to have a good, long cry when she arrived in her bedroom back home. Everything within her screamed for her to tell him that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him and only him. She wanted to tell him that it was him she wanted to go on a date with when he recovered. Even if she had to push his wheelchair, she would always be proud to be seen with him. He had so little self-worth left, and it broke her heart. To her he was everything. She wanted him to feel, at least, some measure of that.

_One day, Matthew. One day. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_

The day Matthew was lifted out of the hospital bed and into his new wheelchair was an emotional day for everybody, not the least of which being himself. The entire family had come down to the hospital for the occasion, which ended up being mildly mortifying for him. He had been touched by Robert's insistence that he be the one to do the main lifting. For Robert, if was his way of showing Matthew that he had his father-figure's love and support through his time of hardship. Mary and his mother had assisted with his useless legs, the very reminder of which was always humiliating, but it couldn't be helped. In the end, everyone had applauded, though Matthew didn't feel like he had actually done anything but allow himself to be manhandled. He had to admit, it was nice to be out of the bed. This made him smile weakly for a moment before the thought occurred to him that this, this contraption they had placed him in, was as good as it was going to get for the rest of his days. The thought quickly sent him back into despair.

Seeing his downcast eyes and deep frown, Mary, who was crouched beside his chair, gently touched her fingers to the back of his hand to get his attention. She was smiling so serenely up at him, her dark eyes luminous and her pale cheeks warmed with a faint blush. She was incredibly lovely, he thought. He had been looking up at her from flat on his back in the bed for so long, it seemed, that seeing her from this perspective made him feel almost normal for a moment. She looked for all the world like she needed to be kissed just then. Her sweet lips were parted in a heartrending smile, and it was just for him. Oh, how he loved her! He could think of little else but her every moment of every day.

Now that lust was no longer a factor in his life, he was able to see that what he felt for Mary was the purest of love. Back when he had first walked away from her, feeling rejected and ill-used, he had tried to console himself with the idea that what he felt for her, what he had misconstrued as love for her, had actually been only lust. True, lust had been a big part of it from the beginning. He had felt lust for her the moment he laid eyes on her. Perhaps it was only the fullness of her strength and character that had been revealed to him by her unprecedented reaction to his time of trial that had taken his feelings to this new and deeper level. He couldn't be sure, but he knew that she was his world. But one day she would have to leave him. Mary couldn't have a real life with him. Of course, she would have to leave him someday, and when she did he would be left desolate. If it was for the best for Mary, however, he could bear up under the grief, knowing that her happiness was of upmost import.

Sometimes he would indulge in dreams of her, despite the consequences he knew would follow. He could recall what her lips had felt like against his own as though it had been only yesterday that he had last tasted them, rather than three long, long years. He couldn't even remember what Lavinia's kisses had been like as vividly.

_Poor, sweet Lavinia._

He felt guilty every time he thought of her, which wasn't often enough - another reason for him to feel guilty. Mary had always been the woman of his dreams, even while he had been engaged to another. Lavinia was a pretty, kind young woman, and he had like her very much. He supposed he had loved her, on some level, but it certainly was a different animal altogether than what he felt for Mary. He had proposed to Lavinia almost out of desperation, maybe even out of spite. After Mary's scathing rejection, he had gone to London on each leave hoping to find a girl to fill the hole in his heart, to replace the love he had lost. He wanted someone to dream about in the trenches, someone to write sweet love letters to him, someone to brag about to his fellow soldiers. Someone to make him feel loved.

Lavinia had been that someone for him when he had needed her, but that time had come to an end. Now, he was dreadfully ashamed that he barely even missed her. In truth, he had used her incredibly ill. His proposal had been prompted by his stubborn, prideful determination not to see Mary again until he had another girl on his arm, someone to prove to her that he had moved on. Not only that he had moved on, but that he had moved on before she had. Matthew cringed internally each time he remembered his abominable pride. It seemed so very foolish, looking back on it from a hospital bed, then a wheelchair. In the light of Mary's kindness and consideration for him, he felt ashamed that he had ever felt such animosity towards her. She had always been his dear friend, even if she hadn't found it within her heart to become his lover. How could he blame her for not being in love with him? She couldn't very well have forced herself to be just to please him. He should have been grateful that she didn't take him for his position alone, only to discover later that her love had been a pretense. If he hadn't been so damnably bitter and prideful he might have seen that and spared poor Lavinia the heartache she must currently be suffering.

Matthew had to smile at Mary's insistence that she push him around the ward a few times in his new chair. She would have liked to have taken him outside, but Dr. Clarkson wouldn't allow it just yet. His Mary was a true and loyal friend. He certainly couldn't fault her for that. He had wondered often in the first days of his hospitalization about Mary's motives for dedicating all her time and energy to nursing him. The more time they spent together, the clearer it became that she considered him a dear friend of hers, perhaps even a brother of sorts. She had no brothers, so it was, perhaps, natural that she would come to feel that way for him. They certainly got on well together, and had, albeit only after years of ridiculous squabbling, found that they had much in common.

Returning to his bed was bittersweet for Matthew. Even the slight exertion had left him in desperate need of a nap, and the touch of Mary's gentle fingers as they soothed his tense brow was a welcome comfort. Thinking about Mary - about their past, their friendship, her beauty, her kindness and grace - always made his heart swell with a painful mixture of sadness and love, and he would find himself desperately in need of some connection to her. He would always reach for her hand, finding that she was always happy to allow him to hold it for as long as he liked, and he did so then. He could feel consciousness leaving him quickly, which was an excellent relief, as thinking too long and hard on the subject of all things _Mary_ always caused his mood to deteriorate rather rapidly.

It was strange that his mind - some automatic chemical reaction to her presence - told him he still wanted to make love to her, but, just like the repeated signals he tried to send to his legs, the message was never relayed to his body. It was strange, and humiliating, and downright painful to him. He could have had her, too. He could have fought for her, refused to accept defeat. He could have told her that it didn't matter if she didn't think she loved him yet. She had allowed his kisses several times, and he was sure he hadn't imagined the passion behind her response. He would have made sure she enjoyed his lovemaking. He would have loved her as often as she would have allowed it, day or night. He would have showered her with affection and given her every consideration a woman of her immeasurable worth deserved. For three years, he might have had the memory of her intimate embrace to hold on to, to take with him into the trenches. They might even have had a child by now, a miraculous product of what they might have shared. He could have faced his long, bleak future with many beautiful memories, instead of so many troubling ones.

Now he would never, _never,_ know what it was like to be as one with the woman he loved and adored above any other. Of all that he had lost, that was, by far, the cruelest.

* * *

Mary awoke the morning Matthew was to transfer to the Abbey nearly giddy with excitement. There was trepidation there too, but it was carefully buried under her flurry of plans and predictions for all that they would be able to do together in this new environment. She was sure that, away from the dismal atmosphere of the hospital, Matthew's spirits would improve. They could go for long strolls around the grounds, play chess, and read together. There were so many places around the Abbey in which to find solitude for meaningful conversation, one in particular concerning both their futures.

As much as she desired to open her heart to Matthew, to tell him all the she felt for him and all she hoped for for them, she knew he wasn't ready to hear it. His heart would be unable to accept it, not yet. Until he had regained enough self-worth to grasp the notion that she still wanted to be with him, she couldn't say anything of her romantic feelings for him. Friendship, yes. Familial love, of course. She would have to start slowly, with mild flirtations and encouraging gestures, eventually arriving at the place where he could accept her love and desire without feelings of inadequacy. There was no way to predict how long such a feat would take to accomplish. It could very well be years before he was ready. As long as she had him by her side, she could be patient.

Her first task had been to rebuild his health, which, she believed, was nearly accomplished. Her second, would be to rebuild his self-esteem. Reestablishing the romantic connection they once shared would have to be third. He may not ever be able to forgive her for the way she had wronged him, or to fully forget her damaged status and social disgrace, but, even if she never succeeded in winning his heart back, she would be happy simply to have him always in her life.

The morning of preparations and travel passed in a blur of activity. Mary was thrilled by the happy smile that lit Matthew's pale face as he beheld his future home once again. It was evident that the journey had fatigued him, so she immediately wheeled him to the room that had been readied for him. She was proud to show it to him, as she had supervised its preparation herself. The regular bed that had occupied the room had been replaced with a hospital bed, which was smaller and lower to the ground, making it much easier for Matthew to get in and out of. The furniture had been rearranged in such a way as to make the room more conducive to navigating his wheelchair easily about. There had been two other downstairs bedrooms available, but she had chosen the one she did because it's colors and appointments were masculine and unfussy, like Matthew. She was sure the room would suit him well.

"Here we are," she announced happily as she pushed him into his new room, then moved around in front of him so that she could see his reaction. "What do you think?"

"It's very inviting. Thank you, Mary. I shall be quite comfortable here," he answered her, smiling indulgently up at her radiant face. She was positively beaming, and her loveliness was most distracting. He had hardly spared a glance for the room.

Parking his chair next to the bed, she knelt at his feet to begin removing his shoes and socks. He had been dressed in his uniform for the trip over, and she assisted him in removing his jacket and tie next.

"Wait just a moment while I fetch someone to assist you into bed," she spoke softly, stepping quickly to the door to see who she could find to help with one of the few tasks she couldn't perform for him herself. She was glad to see that Bates had been waiting just outside the room for that very reason. Carson had thought to have him readily available, as it was clear that assistance would be needed.

Bates smiled cheerfully, and clapped Matthew encouragingly on the back, before lifting him easily onto the bed.

"Thank you, very much, Bates," Matthew said. "That will be all."

"Very good, Captain Crawley," Bates answered back with a respectful dip of his head. "If I may say so, we're all very happy to have you home safe."

"I appreciate it. Thank you again, Bates."

With a final bow, Bates left the room, leaving Mary feeling the need to ask a rather awkward question.

"Uh, Matthew, I thought perhaps you might rather..."

"Might rather what?" he asked, baffled by Mary's sudden loss for words.

"Well, I thought you might prefer it if...if Bates assisted you in...changing, and such, now. I...I don't mind doing it. You know that, but...I just want you to be comfortable." Mary explained, her face becoming increasingly flushed.

"It's been over a week, Mary. I'm nearly over my embarrassment, I promise," he answered with an arch smile. "Besides, you've become quite proficient at divesting me of my clothing. You might just give Bates a run for his money as valet."

Mary laughed, and shushed him good-naturally for his scandalizing comments. She was pleased to see him in a cheerful mood. It was always a good sign when he teased her.

"Now, are you comfortable as you are, or would you prefer to nap in your pajamas?" she asked, opening the top buttons on his shirt so his collar wouldn't choke him.

"I'll be alright as I am, I think," he answered. "I don't want to sleep the entirety of the day away, so please come wake me in a hour or so."

"_Two_ hours," Mary insisted. "You've had a busy day, and I shan't allow you to undo all the progress you've made. Perhaps you would care to spend some time out of doors."

"Oh, would I!" Matthew agreed enthusiastically. "I feel like I haven't had a breath of fresh air in ages."

"It's settled then," Mary said as she pulled the covers up over him. "Have a pleasant nap."

Before she could turn and leave the room, Matthew captured her hand and brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss. His eyes shone with affection as he gazed up at his lovely nurse, his heart full of love and admiration for the strong, capable woman the proud, shallow girl he once knew had become. She was truly a wonder.

"Thank you," he whispered feelingly, squeezing the hand he still held.

Mary merely smiled down at him, feeling too overcome with emotion to reply. She squeezed his hand in return before turning and leaving him to his rest.

* * *

**A/N: **No much happened, I know, but at least Matthew's at Downton Abbey now. I know I spent an inordinate amount of time dwelling on his thoughts, but I'm trying to set us up for future events.

A big thanks for all the lovely reviews. They make my day. :)


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

The first few days at Downton Abbey passed pleasantly for both Mary and Matthew. The change of scenery did help prolong Matthew's good moods for the first day or so, but even fresh air and sunshine couldn't draw him completely from his melancholy shell. It was almost a sad reminder to see the grounds he once strolled or rode his bike over from his helpless position in a wheelchair. He began to feel the differences in his situation more than ever.

Lieutenant Phillips made several more overtures to Mary, which were summarily rebuffed each time. She didn't feel the need to explain herself to him, simply to inform him that she wasn't interested in going out with him. It didn't take long for him to catch on to the reality that she was in love with her charge, though whether or not the gentleman in question was aware of the fact was less certain. Drew was only looking for a bit of harmless fun, however, and eventually switched his attentions over to Lady Edith, who, though not nearly as lovely as Lady Mary, was available and appreciated his attentions. Taking a lady out for dinner and dancing served to restore his sense of normalcy after the horror of the war. That was really all he was after. Mary was greatly relieved, and still felt comfortable conversing with him whenever the opportunity arose.

As the days passed, Mary and Matthew began to form a sort of routine for how they spent their time. She would wake him in the morning and help him dress in his uniform before wheeling him to breakfast. After breakfast came their morning stroll in the garden. After that, she would ask him if he would rather spend the afternoon reading in the library, or spending some time watching the other, more mobile, soldiers in their pastimes. Matthew enjoyed watching the cricket matches, no matter how much he wished he could join in. He knew that, each time he watched, he would feel horrible for hours afterwards, but some entertainment was necessary to pass the time. It seemed like time was all he had those days.

Before they knew it, they had passed a fortnight at the Abbey. Matthew's strength was so much improved that he could wheel himself for short distances. Mary still insisted that she push him whenever they were outside on the gravel paths, not wishing for him to overexert himself just yet. He was glad when he was strong enough to have real baths, instead of sponge bathes, which required him to be strong enough to hold himself above the water so that he didn't drown. Much less assistance was required, which went a long way towards repairing his independence. Mary would always be nearby, however, sitting and talking to him from the other side of the screen. He still needed her help to wash his hair, though. He certainly didn't mind, as she would treat him to several minutes of delicious scalp massage, with those delightful nails of hers, that made him nearly purr with pleasure.

One evening, as she carefully rinsed the suds from his shiny, clean hair, she casually allowed one of her hands to rest upon his bare shoulder, something she hadn't been brave enough to attempt before. She allowed her hand to slip, accidentally of course, down to his wet chest as she leaned over to catch his eye.

"Ready to get out now?" she asked smilingly.

Matthew trailed wet fingers along her arm and wrist where they rested on his damp skin, enjoying the torturous intimacy of her gesture, though he truly believed that she had done it unconsciously. Unable to resist, he leaned towards her to place a wet kiss on the skin just below her ear. The smell of her hair sent a jolt of desire coursing through him, causing a delicious tingle in every centimeter that still possessed feeling.

"What was that for?" Mary asked nervously. She could feel a hot blush creeping up her neck all the way to her hairline.

Matthew shrugged, and answered, "just for being you."

Mary looked into his shining eyes and wondered, if she were to kiss him then, if he would allow it. He might have, but she decided to forgo the temptation for the moment. The time would come, perhaps sooner than she had anticipated, but she didn't want to rush things. She wouldn't take that step until she was sure he wouldn't regret it afterwards. So, she, with great effort, pulled herself away from him, crossing the room to ring for Bates to assist them.

Bates was always the one to assist whenever there was a task that required a man's help. Matthew appreciated his kind, though professional, demeanor, and quickly came to trust him and feel comfortable with him. They had even discussed Mary's scandal once. Matthew was shocked to learn that it was Bates' wife who had sold the story. Bates expressed deep compunctions about what his wife had done, and confessed to Matthew that he felt he might have done more to stop her. Matthew was quick to reassure the loyal servant that he had done all he could, and that he mustn't blame himself. Mary was bearing up admirably under the pressure, and both men were extremely proud of her for it.

"You know, she owes much of her fortitude and positive outlook to you, Captain Crawley, if you don't mind my saying so," Bates had suggested.

"To me?" Matthew responded in surprise. "I'm sure I've had nothing to do with it, Bates. If anything, I'm a burden to her."

"I don't think she would see it that way, Sir. You know what they say about a friend in need. You're both in need just now, and you've helped each other along. I see nothing in that young lady's manner that suggests she feels burdened by your friendship in the slightest."

Matthew had thanked him for his reassurances, and was left to wonder how much of it was true.

About three weeks into his stay at Downton, Robert had asked, at Mary's suggestion, that Matthew spend a few hours each day assisting him in estate matters. Mary had hoped that having a meaningful occupation would raise Matthew's spirits and strengthen his self-worth. His mind was still sharp as ever, and she wanted him to have a daily reminder of the fact. Though she hated being parted from him, even for those few hours, she knew it was for the best.

Matthew had always possessed a talent for solving even complex calculations quickly and accurately in his head, so Robert assigned him the task of balancing the ledgers.

One afternoon, Mary slipped into the study and peered over his shoulder to watch him work, only to be astonished by the speed with which he was adding the numbers in his head. Absorbed in the task as he was, he started slightly when Mary placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm very impressed, Matthew," she praised. "I always knew you were clever, but Papa never told me you where a genius with mathematics." She directed a pointed glance at her father who was making notes from an agricultural journal on the other side of the desk.

"I'm hardly a genius, Mary," Matthew protested, his ears becoming hot with embarrassment at her undeserved praise.

"Nonsense. It would have taken me ages to do that sum," she argued. "I'm sure your assistance is invaluable to Papa. Arithmetic isn't his strong suit any more than it is mine, I'm afraid."

"My daughter is, sadly, correct," Robert agreed. "I've become decently proficient at adding columns of numbers over the years of necessity, but you, my boy, have a real gift."

By this time, Matthew's face was red as the sofa in the library. It was nice to feel useful, despite his discomfort at the excess of praise.

Mary seated herself beside her father to let Matthew finish up before wheeling him outside for their afternoon chat on ( or, by, in Matthew's case) their favorite bench.

As Mary and Matthew chatted away companionably outside, Robert watched the pair from the library window. He had seen, as he was sure everybody with eyes had, that the two were extremely close, even more so than they had been before the war. He was glad. Both Matthew and Mary were in need of a close friend and companion to help ease the difficult times both were facing. The hope began to form in his heart that he might get to have Matthew for his son after all. Perhaps, at one time, he might have had reservations about the notion, but, after the article in the gossip columns had so severely damaged Mary's reputation, he began to see the merit in the idea.

"I don't like Mary spending so much time alone with Matthew, Robert," Cora's worried voice came from behind him. "With her reputation already in question, it doesn't look good. The other soldiers have been talking..."

"Oh, leave them be, Cora," Robert responded, annoyed by his wife's attitude. "Can't you see how happy Mary is - how happy they both are - when they're together."

"That's what worries me, Robert. I don't know about you, but I want grandchildren one day. We all love Matthew, but I wish there was a way to separate them, for Mary's sake."

Robert turned to his wife, a look of stunned disappointment on his face.

"Cora, I don't believe what I'm hearing."

"The point is," she continued, "that, the more time she spends with Matthew, the less time she'll have to dedicate to finding a husband who will still have her. It's so selfish of him to keep her tied down here when she could be on her way to America, where she can have a new, full life."

"I don't believe it's Matthew's choice so much as Mary's," Robert argued. "If she wants to stay here with him, I see no harm in allowing her to make that choice. As far as grandchildren go, we still have Edit and Sybil to take care of that. I want Mary, and Matthew, to be happy. If that means allowing them to be together despite, the obvious setbacks, that's good enough for me."

"I just don't want her to tie herself to him out of pity, then, later, come to regret that choice."

"I know, Cora. You want the best for all our girls. I understand that," Robert replied, trying to be patient with his wife. "But there comes a time, as parents, when we must allow our children to decide what's best for them. Mary's a grown woman. She can make her own decision based on her own heart and mind, and I'm determined that she _will _make her own decision in this case. I mean it, Cora. I don't want you interfering with them."

With that, Robert turned and left the room, effectively ending the conversation.

The next afternoon, Robert gave Matthew the day off from working with him on estate business, as he had done enough during the previous week to have matters well in hand for a few days. He immediately went in search of Mary, thinking to ask her to take him outside. He had seen some of he soldiers getting up a cricket match from the window, and decided he felt composed enough to watch.

He was just about the round the corner into the hall, when he heart Lieutenant Phillips' voice. He was speaking with another officer, apparently, about Mary. At the mention of her name, Matthew stopped to listen.

"She's quite a looker, eh Drew? I'm of a mind to try my luck wiv' er."

"I already tried and failed, myself," Drew replied. "Don't waste your time."

"Drew's right," a third voice chimed in. "She's Captain Crawley's girl."

After that, the officers passed out of Matthew's range of hearing, leaving him to ponder what he had overheard. Apparently the general consensus was that Mary was somehow romantically attached to him. Didn't everyone understand that she was his nurse? Well, considering that nobody else had a personal nurse who attended to himself and no other, it was easy to understand how that assumption had come about.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

_Lady Mary, Captain Cawley's girl. _

He chuckled fondly at the thought, liking very well the way that sounded.

Matthew found Mary changing bed sheets with Sybil in one of the former drawing rooms.

"Matthew, what are you doing here?" Mary asked with a bright smile. "Aren't you supposed to be helping Papa?"

Matthew returned her smile genuinely, his spirits still soaring after hearing her referred to as "his girl," however untrue the assumption might have been.

"How are you feeling today, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked sweetly, forcing him to tear his eyes away from Mary's face.

"Very well, Cousin Sybil. Thank you," he answered. "I'd be even better if you could spare your sister for the afternoon. There's a cricket match forming outside, and I thought she might like to accompany me."

"Of course I can spare her," Sybil answered, shooting a pointed look at Mary, who was veritably glowing with excitement at the prospect of spending the afternoon with Matthew. Sybil knew very well that her sister was in love with their cousin, as, she began to suspect, he was with her. Never having been one to place much value on convention, Sybil was only too glad to encourage that which would bring the most happiness to both.

"Mary?" he asked, holding out his hand towards her.

"I would be most pleased to accompany you, Captain Crawley," Mary answered with exaggerated formality, taking his proffered hand. "I thank you for your kind invitation."

Once the two had reached the place outside where the soldiers were gathered for the game, Mary parked Matthew's chair close to where several other disabled soldiers had congregated to watch. Several men, who had either suffered the loss of a leg, or where simply still too injured to play, had spread blankets on the grass on which to recline. There was also one other soldier in a wheelchair.

"Lady Mary," a young officer whom she knew to be called Jeffrey greeted her, "won't you join us." He patted a spot beside him on the blanket.

"Oh, yes, do join us _Lady _Mary," another officer sneered. "We don't bite...much," he concluded with a wink.

The entire grouping of officers laughed at what they saw as an excellent joke, and several others patted the ground beside them, beginning a competition amongst themselves about whom she would prefer to sit with.

Matthew was disgusted with their behavior. He was just opening his mouth to rebuke them, when Mary took matters into her own hands.

Fixing a haughty smile on her face, Mary placed a hand firmly on Matthew's shoulder as she moved to stand beside him, and announced to the group that she had decided who she would most like to sit with.

With that, she shocked Matthew by seating herself primly upon his lap, dangling her legs gracefully over the arm of his chair. She placed one slender arm around his shoulders, before looking back at the other soldiers, bestowing a withering glare on the lot of them.

Matthew was shocked by her daring move. For a moment he remained completely motionless, stunned as he was. If there had been any suspicions about Mary being "his girl" she had just confirmed them for everyone. She turned back to him and smiled sweetly.

"I hope you don't mind," she whispered to him. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"Not at all," he answered quickly, wrapping his arms about her waist - to make sure she didn't fall, of course.

Her proximity was intoxicating. He could see every enticing freckle on her flawless skin. The fragrance of her perfume was delicious. He had to fight the temptation to bury his face in her neck and inhale. Just the feel of her in his arms...He felt his heart swell with pride that she had wanted to sit with him like this, even if it was only a friendly gesture to her. Everyone thought she was _his girl_, and he would enjoy pretending it was true while he could. For the first time in a month, he felt like a man again. If only he could feel where her sweet bottom was perched on his thighs, his contentment might have been complete.

Later that night, as Matthew lay in bed, the brief joy of the day crumbled, once again, into despair. She had made him feel like a man for a few fleeting hours, but it had been only an illusion. He was broken, and would remain so. No amount of make believe would ever change that.

He hadn't cared for the way the other officers treated Mary at all. The way they leered at her, as though she were a piece of meat on display in the butcher's shop window...He hated it. If he had been the man he once was, he would have made them all sorry for it. Mary didn't deserve it. She was so brave, and strong, and tenacious, and she didn't deserve the treatment she received from anybody. He hadn't missed the fact that she hadn't gone to church services since the scandal broke. She hadn't gone into town for any reason, except to attend him when he was at the hospital.

He wished for so much better for her. If only it were still within his power to give.

* * *

**A/N: **I know I took a bit of a risk with that last scene, but, hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. ;)

As far as timing, we're between episodes 5 and 6 now. I have no idea how to tell how much time passed between the two episodes in the actual show, so I'm guessing a couple months. At least, for my purposes, that's how long it's gunna be.

The next chapter will be a pretty pivotal moment in the story, so stay tuned! Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting, following, ect.!


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11_

"What is the sum of one thousand, one hundred, and seventy-five, and twenty thousand, six hundred, and fifty-two?"

"Twenty-one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-seven," Matthew answered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"What is fourteen thousand and seven hundred times three thousand, four hundred, and eighteen?"

"Fifty...damn, Mary are you trying to kill me? Erh..fifty...million, two hundred and forty-four thousand, and six hundred...I think. Why do these keep getting harder?"

"I was trying to get your mind off of...things. It worked didn't it?" Mary ask with a raised brow.

Matthew thought for a moment, and realized she was right. He had been in the middle of one of his meltdowns - as Mary had dubbed his moments of unrestrained anger and bitterness about his condition - when she had started asking him to solve sum after sum in his head, and it had, apparently, worked. He no longer felt the tide of panic and aggression roiling turbulently inside him.

"That was very impressive Matthew," Mary complemented him genuinely. "Of course, for all I know, you might have been making your answers up to impress me."

Matthew smiled mischievously up at her from his place on the bed, grateful that she had come to his rescue...again.

"Well, we'll never know will we?" he teased before reaching his hand out for her to take. "Thank you for that, Mary. You always seem to know just what to do when I...well, when I need to calm down. I'm trying to do better, for your sake. Really I am."

"Oh, Matthew, what am I always telling you? You have every right to be angry, and sad, and frightened. Let it out sometimes, if you need to. You can't keep it all bottled up inside you forever. I understand that," Mary answered, the compassion in her soft brown eyes soothing him greatly.

For several moments, they merely remained silently grasping each other's hands between them. Bed time was often a difficult time for Matthew. Mary had come to expect that he would need some extra attention from her, just some little token that he was loved and cared for - that he was valuable to someone. Sometimes she would just sit quietly and stroke the back of his hand with her fingers. Occasionally she would play with his hair. It had become a nightly routine for her to kiss him lightly on the forehead before leaving him to his rest. On this night, she chose, instead, to kiss his warm cheek, roughened with the day's stubble growth. She wished she could kiss all along his jaw, down his neck, his beautifully-sculpted chest... The temptation was strong, but she managed to pull away after only one light kiss. Bidding him a fond goodnight, she retired to her own room.

Sleep didn't come easily for Mary that night. The time to take the next step in her plan was, she felt, upon her, and she wasn't sure she had the courage to attempt it just yet. But how could she not try? Her dearest wish was within her grasp, and she felt that she simply had to go after what she wanted or run mad. It killed her to leave Matthew's side each night. He was beginning to heal emotionally from all he had been through, but he still suffered severe melancholy and nightmares when left alone at night. He needed her, and this was the one time she couldn't be there for him. It ate at her insides to think of it. If they were married, she wouldn't have to leave him...ever. She could sleep by his side, be there for him every moment that he needed her. Perhaps he would put his arms around her while they slept. She could give him a real goodnight kiss, perhaps many. In the morning, his face would be the first thing to fill her vision. Yes, she simply must try! The time had come, and she was anxious to make her dream a reality. She wanted Matthew to be hers, her husband, for good.

Of course, she knew that, if she told him the truth of why she so wanted to be married to him, he wouldn't accept her. There were many practical reasons for their union, however. Matthew was a lawyer. She was sure if she planned her argument well she could make him see the logic behind her scheme. Whether or not he still harbored any romantic love for her, she couldn't say, but she knew he thought of her as a close friend and cared for her, at least, as a devoted cousin. If he thought he was doing her a great favor, securing her future and giving her the life she had always wanted, she was sure he would agree to do it. At least, she hoped that was true. All her hopes were pinned upon it.

Mary hoped she didn't seem too anxious during breakfast the next morning. She knew she was quieter and more pensive than normal, but Matthew didn't say anything about it, and neither did anyone else. She took her time, after the meal, wheeling him out to their bench, allowing herself a moment to gather her thoughts - to rehearse her opening statements, as it were - before diving into the monumental conversation she wished to have.

"Ok, what's on your mind, Mary?" Matthew asked as soon as she had taken her seat.

"Oh, Matthew, you know me too well," she responded with a fond smile.

"I can tell you have something on your mind this morning, and I demand to know what it is," Matthew insisted playfully, wishing to lighten her somber mood. Mary's smiles were the balm for his wounded soul, and he hated when they were in short supply, as they had been all morning.

"Well," she began, "there is...something I wanted to ask you about. Call it a favor, if you will."

"Go on," he prompted, all teasing aside.

"I know what your initial reaction to my...idea will be, and I understand why you would think that way. However, I've given a great deal of thought - hours, really - to this notion, and I truly believe it would be in both of our best interests. So, please, hear me out."

Matthew was confused, but intrigued, by her cryptic words. He couldn't imagine what this mysterious notion Mary was going on about could be, but he saw that, whatever it was, it meant a great deal to her.

"Go on, Mary. I'll listen."

"Well, you see, Matthew...all I've ever wanted from life was to be here, at Downton - to be mistress of Downton, one day. It is my fondest wish...to never have to leave here. Now that I am ruined, and unmarriageable, I find that my greatest wish of all is to know that my future, my future _here_, is secure and settled. Also, if I were to make a respectable match, it would go a long way towards repairing my reputation. I could show my face in town again."

Here, she paused a moment to gauge Matthew's reaction. He merely sat motionless, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

"I know you don't believe you have anything left to offer a woman, but you do. You can offer me respectability, stability, and the future I truly want. Even beyond that...you're my best friend, Matthew. It may not even be inaccurate to say my _only_ friend. And you need someone, too. Someone to look after you, to be there for you. I know you hate the necessity, and I hate it for you, but it's the reality of things. I believe that you could offer me...that we could offer each other...what we both need for a secure and...reasonably happy future. That is why...I'm asking you to marry me."

The minutes of silence stretched on, and Mary was beginning to worry that Matthew was going into shock. He hadn't moved at all since she had finished speaking. He flinched when she touched her fingers to his arm, but still said nothing.

"Matthew, please say something," she pled. "You're worrying me."

He blinked several times, seemingly snapping out of the trance her unexpected proposal had put him in. He was stunned. Mary made it all seem so reasonable, yet he couldn't possibly be easy with the idea. Surely she couldn't truly mean what she was saying. She couldn't possibly know what she was taking on, and yet...she had sounded so sincere.

"Mary, I...I don't know what to say. You once accused me of making things black and white, but...in this case, I must accuse you of the same. I'm not sure things are as black and white as you make them sound."

"It is black and white, Matthew," she argued back. "I need something, you need something. We can each give the other what it is that we need. Have we not enjoyed each other's company this past month? Can you not see us...running Downton together? as partners?"

"Well, yes, of course I can see that. But we wouldn't have to be married to do it. You will always have a home here, as long as I'm living."

"But I wouldn't be mistress of Downton legitimately, but by default. I would be the ruined spinster cousin who lives on your charity. I would much rather be the legitimate Countess of Grantham. Surely you can understand that."

"Yes, I can understand that," Matthew reluctantly admitted. "But, Mary...surely you realize we could never be _truly_ married. I could never...give you children, a family. Is it really worth giving that up for a...title and...and an estate?"

Mary's heart clenched at the waver in his voice, the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. Of course, she was sad about all those things, just not enough to make her give _him_ up.

"Oh, Matthew, do you really see me as the maternal type?" she scoffed. "I took all that into account before I asked you. Of course, I did. Besides, I've already lost my chances. No respectable man will have me now that my shame is made public. At least with you I know I'll be cared for, and treated with respect and kindness, as an equal. Do you not want that for me?"

"Of course I want that for you, Mary," Matthew responded sadly. "But I also want...more for you. If the way you've cared for me this past month has been any indication, you would be a marvelous mother. I hate to think of you missing out on that opportunity. And...well, hell, I may as well say it. Mary, you are a beautiful, captivating woman who deserves to be made love to, and often. It would just be... s..such a shame for you to... to...waste your charms on one s...such as m...me."

The tears that had threatened spilled freely over his cheeks as the pain and loss once again crashed down upon him. He wanted, desperately, to tell her he would marry her, be with her forever. A part of him wanted to. It would just be so very, very painful to be daily reminded of her beauty and desirability and be forever unable to make her truly his. It was just so horribly unfair.

Mary's heart clenched painfully at his words. She wanted to tell him that she still wanted him, that his physical limitations didn't affect her desire to spend her life with him. She would always mourn the loss of what they might have shared, but that didn't mean they couldn't still have what they _could_ still have.

"I took all that into account when I made this decision, Matthew. You know what happened with Mr. Pamuk. Who doesn't? I have a...fairly good idea of what I'm giving up, so I'm not making a completely uninformed decision, here. I've made my choice. I know what I want. The question is, can you tolerate having me as your nurse for the rest of your life?"

Matthew laughed a little ruefully, and replied, "Mary, you know my feelings on that score. I cannot imagine anyone better. It is for your sake that I hesitate."

"You don't have to give me an answer, either way, now. Just think about it. Take all the time you need. No matter how long you make me wait _I_ won't withdraw _my_ proposal and run away from you."

Mary said the last in a lame attempt to inject some humor into the situation, but immediately regretted her unthinking words. Matthew was visibly shaking, his tears falling faster than before.

"Mary, how could you be so _unfeeling_!" he cried. "Do you not know how deeply I have come to regret my actions that day? How could you bring that up _now_? I never thought you could be so horribly cruel."

Horrified, Mary stood and ran to his side, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into her embrace. Matthew tried to resist, to pull away from her, but she held him fast.

"You're right," she soothed, rubbing comforting circles on his back. "Of course, you're right. That was thoughtless and cruel of me to say. Can you ever forgive me? I'm so very, very sorry."

"I forgive _you_, Mary." His soft, strained voice was muffled by the fabric of her blouse. "It's myself I cannot forgive."

For several moments, they merely held each other and cried silently for all they had lost. Soon, Mary pulled away and knelt in the grass beside Matthew's chair, taking his hand between both of hers.

"I believe that's quite enough of that for today," she spoke cooly. "It will do neither of us any good to entertain regrets. We can only think of the future, what we can do now to make both our futures the best they can be under the circumstances."

Matthew nodded sullenly, searching his pockets for a handkerchief.

"Right breast pocket," Mary prompted him.

"Ah." He pulled out the handkerchief and smiled up at his dedicated nurse, trying, for her sake, to put his melancholy aside for the moment.

Mary moved behind his chair and began walking again. For the next half hour, they moved in companionable silence over the peaceful grounds, each absorbed in thoughts of the future.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, Mary finally took the plunge! How will Matthew respond? We'll find out next time. :)

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, everybody! They truly make my day.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12_

The next few days passed quietly for Mary and Matthew, as neither of them spoke more than a few words to the other, and they spent a good deal less time in each other's company than had been their usual practice. It wasn't that Matthew was upset with Mary, or that he didn't want to spend time with her, but he needed time, and space, to think about what she had asked of him. He spent hours going over every possible argument for and against their marriage in his head, imagining every possible outcome for each possible scenario. After four days of this nonstop inner dialogue, his head was nearly splitting.

Mary knew better than to be wounded by Matthew's reticence. She knew that he had a lot to ponder, and would need his space to do so. As the days dragged by, however, she began to miss his company greatly. She still completed her usual nursely tasks and sat next to him at meal times; but, even when they were together, he seemed far away. She kept reminding herself of her promise to be patient as she awaited his answer, but she began to worry that he would never fully return to her. Pushing this thought firmly away, she reminded herself that this was a more difficult decision for him than it had been for her, and that she had already been dwelling on the possibility for several weeks, whereas he had only just been introduced to the notion. He needed time. That was all. She would simply have to remain patient.

On the afternoon of the fourth day following Mary's unexpected proposal, Matthew wheeled himself to Robert's study, deciding it was time he spoke with someone who might be able to help him know his own mind. His thoughts had become impossibly tangled. He wanted Mary to stay with him always, but it would be humiliating not to be able to make love to his own wife. Mary could stay with him, not as his wife, but that wouldn't be what she wanted. Mary deserved to be a countess some day, and marriage would certainly aid her battered reputation. But, in exchange, she would be condemning herself to a lifetime of childlessness and servitude, which she might end up with even if she didn't marry him.

"Robert, I need to speak with you about something that's been troubling me greatly," Matthew asked immediately upon entering the room.

Robert abruptly looked up from the book he had been pursuing, his concern instantly aroused. There was any number of things that could be troubling Matthew, none of which were pleasant to deal with or easily sorted through.

"My dear boy, you know I'm always glad to be of assistance to you in any way I can be," he answered, trying to temper the hesitation in his tone.

"I know. Thank you for that," Matthew answered politely, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. "You see, it's about Mary. She's...well, she...strangely enough, she proposed marriage to me the other day."

For a moment, Robert was stunned, then he began laughing uncontrollably at the thought of his Mary on one knee. There was absolutely nothing he would put past her, at that point.

"I'm sorry, Matthew," he apologized as he tried to compose himself. "You said this was troubling you greatly, and I don't mean to make light of your difficulties. However, the thought of Mary proposing marriage to you struck me as humorous. That girl...once she takes it into her head that she wants something, she goes after it. I can say that much for her."

"Yes," Matthew agreed quietly. "It's one of the things I've always admired about her."

"Well, have you given her an answer to her proposal?" Robert asked, still trying to subdue his amusement at the unorthodox situation.

"No. I honestly don't know what answer to give."

"Do you want to marry Mary?" Robert asked.

"Robert, I'm sure you know I've been hopelessly in love with her for years. Of course, I want to...to have her always with me. But...marriage is just so...so permanent, and I would not wish for her to be tied down in case...in case she meets somebody else, one day. It would be selfish of me to try to keep her."

"Matthew, let us be frank with each other. You and I both know that the chances of Mary finding a decently respectable man, who could provide her with the lifestyle to which she is accustomed, that would still have her after that damned Kamal Pamuk fiasco, are slim to none."

"I realize that. I just...I can't imagine anyone not wanting Mary."

"Well, I can't imagine it either," Robert shot back, "but I believe you and I are both somewhat biased."

Matthew laughed agreeably, knowing what Robert said was true. Anybody who knew Mary as he did would have to love her. It would be impossible for anyone not to. The problem was that no one would take the time to know her after hearing of her past.

"I don't wish to try to influence your decision, my boy," Robert continued. "You must come to your own conclusion. However, I will say this. Any man who shows interest in Mary, knowing what everyone now does about her past, is likely to have impure motives, or is simply not the type of man I would want to see my daughter tied to. I want a good man for Mary, a brave man. I can think of no one I would trust more with my daughter's welfare than you, Matthew. If you wish to accept Mary's proposal, you will have my hearty consent and blessing. I would be proud to call you my son."

While he was deeply touched by the sentiments his mentor expressed, Matthew was still skeptical.

"But if Mary were to marry me, she would never have children. She seems to be resigned to the idea, but I cannot easily accept it myself, as I'm sure you can understand."

"Sadly, she will, in all likelihood, never be a mother even if she doesn't marry you. At least, not under happy circumstances."

Matthew remained silently staring at his shoes for several moments as he allowed the idea to sink in. His logical mind told him accepting her was the right course, but, still, he couldn't seem to feel at peace with the idea. He supposed it was his own destroyed pride, more than anything, that caused him to hesitate. There was also the fear that Mary would, one day, come to feel dissatisfied in their marriage and would begin to resent him for tying her down to the life of a nursemaid. After all, she would, in all likelihood, be a simple nursemaid much longer than she would be a countess.

Robert continued mulling his conversation with Matthew over in his head long after he was left alone. It had occurred to him that Matthew didn't seem to know of Cora's offer to send Mary to America to live with her grandmother, and Robert had purposely omitted that fact from his discourse. The truth, if he were honest with himself, was that he wanted their union to take place. He wanted Mary to be able to remain at the home she loved, not to be shipped away across an ocean to a strange and unfamiliar land. Furthermore, he longed to see a happy ending to his young cousin's tragic tale. Marriage to the woman he had been in love with for years was still a very pleasing resolution, even under the current circumstances. And Matthew would be his son-in-law.

Robert wondered if he were being selfish to want the match to go forward as much as he did, but couldn't care enough to do anything to reverse what he'd said to Matthew. Despite his claims to the contrary, he had hoped to steer Matthew in Mary's direction. He only hoped he wouldn't one day come to regret it.

* * *

Mary lay awake in the dark, listening to the constant rumble of thunder outside her window. She had never been able to sleep soundly during thunderstorms, if at all. As preoccupied as she was with her relationship with Matthew, sleep was a virtual impossibility on such a stormy night.

She sighed deeply as she thought of Matthew, sleeping somewhere below her on the first floor. How dreadfully she missed him! Even if he declined her proposal, she hoped they could soon resume their usual routine of spending time in each other's company and enjoying long, pleasant conversations. Her days were impossibly dull without him to fill them. Besides, if he were to refuse her hand now, she would simply wait a while and then ask again. He wouldn't be able to put her off forever, and he had promised that she would have a home at Downton for as long as he lived, so he would be going against his word if he sent her away. She would, eventually, have her way. She wouldn't give up until she did, even if they were old and grey by the time they finally made it to the alter. Still, she hoped that an arrangement would be agreed upon much sooner, as she longed to call him her husband.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by her need to be near him, Mary rose from her bed and slipped on her dressing gown and slippers before padding out into the hallway. She would just look in on him for a few moments before going to the kitchen for some warm milk to help her sleep.

As she neared his door, however, she was shocked to hear his sleep-roughened voice calling out.

"No! Mary, no!" he called out hoarsely, clearly having a nightmare. A nightmare about her. Mary wasn't sure what to think about that, but she rested her forehead against the door to his room, listening to see if he would calm.

A monstrous peal of thunder shook the window casements, and Mary heard a helpless, terrified yell from the other side of the door. Her blood seemed to turn to ice in her veins. She pushed open the door without thinking twice, slamming it behind her as she ran into the room.

Matthew was panting and whimpering piteously, obviously terrified. She had never seen it so bad before. Knowing she needed to calm him, she reclined on the bed next to his thrashing form, wrapping her arms around him, and pinning him down with her weight.

"Matthew!" she called to him, trying to break through the fearful trance he seemed to be in. "Matthew, it's Mary. I'm here. You're safe at Downton. Everything is going to be alright."

His movements slowly subsided, and his arms came around Mary's waist, crushing her almost painfully to him. She could hear him whispering her name repeatedly into her hair, his warm breath tickling her ears.

"I thought I'd lost you, Mary," he tremulously spoke, at last.

"Lost me? Whatever can you mean?" she asked, trying to look up into his face, despite his firm hold.

"There was a shell...and I tried to call out to you, but you couldn't hear me. And then I couldn't see you any more..."

His voice broke, and his breaths became erratic again. Mary pushed up on an elbow so that she could place one hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. The frequent lightening strikes kept the room partially illuminated, and she could see that his eyes were wide, pupils fully dilated.

"It was only a nightmare, Matthew. I'm perfectly fine."

She continued to stroke his cheek with her thumb, whispering comforting nothings to him until he seemed relatively calm, if not completely himself. He flinched every time the thunder crashed outside, and seemed unable to relax.

"Does the thunder frighten you?" Mary asked.

Matthew nodded weakly, tightening his hold on her waist as another peal of thunder shook the house.

Mary didn't know what to do for him. She certainly couldn't make the thunder stop. She could only return his embrace and allow him to hold onto her as the storm raged on.

Her forehead rested against his rough cheek, as she subtilely nuzzled her face into his neck. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the smell of him, soaking in the warmth that radiated from his body. She allowed the hand that rested on his chest to move across it to his shoulder, then down onto his arm. Every muscle in his upper body was tensed, and the feel of him was exquisite. She knew she was supposed to be comforting him, but she couldn't help but take what pleasure she could from the contact. She wanted him with every fiber of her being. Nothing else mattered in her whole life but that she be allowed to be close to him like this. With any luck, even closer.

After a very long half hour of terror, Matthew began to return to himself. The storm had moved further away from the house, and the thunder was softer and less frequent. For what felt like an eternity, he had been back in France, shells landing all around him, killing men, maiming them. His body still trembled, but he was beginning to feel mildly embarrassed for behaving in such a juvenile manner in front of Mary. What grown man would be afraid of a thunder storm?

But Mary was in his arms! How could he ever regret any circumstance that brought such a delightful treat. Her soft body was pressed against his side, and her warm breath tickled his neck delightfully. And her hair - oh, her soft, fragrant hair! - was close enough for him to nuzzle his face in, which he did, most happily. He became aware of the location of each of his hands. One rested on her shoulder, now bare where he had, apparently, caused the loose fabric of her gown to slip down. The other rested in the graceful dip of her trim waist. He caressed the bare skin of her shoulder with his fingers, delighting in the incredible softness and warmth of her.

Mary shivered as his fingers stroked her shoulder. Desire shot through her, hot and powerful.

"You're cold," Matthew surmised, misunderstanding the reason for her trembling. "Here." He pulled at his blankets, which she was currently laying on top of, gesturing for her to get under the covers with him.

Mary wasn't cold - quite the opposite, in fact - but she did as he encouraged, and slipped underneath the covers. The bed was quite small, only meant for a single occupant, so she had to lie quite close to him, which suited her just fine. Matthew opened his arms to hold her close again, and she rested her head on his muscled chest. Mary hooked one of her legs over his, knowing he wouldn't feel her gesture, but relishing the intimate position for her own sake. For a moment, she surrendered to the temptation to press her hips against his hard thigh, knowing it was wicked of her to have such wanton thoughts, especially given his condition, but she couldn't help herself. She had waited so long to know what it was like to lie next to him like this. It was delicious beyond description, and her body was making its desires clear.

Matthew was, as Mary knew he would be, quite ignorant of the fierce desire pulsing through Mary's lower body, as he couldn't feel where she was pressed intimately against him. All he could think of was how wonderful it felt to hold her in his arms, how sweet she smelled, and how soft her breasts were where they pressed against his side. His brain was frantically sending signals to his body that weren't being received, but he could still feel the arousal pulsing through every vein of his upper body. He wanted to kiss her. To touch and see every part of her. To feel her against him everywhere he could.

Somewhere, in his passion-fogged brain, Matthew was aware that he had stopped noticing the thunder altogether, though it still rumbled in the distance. He smiled to himself. Mary always knew what he needed, even if only on some subconscious level. He wasn't sure how she knew to arrive at the precise moment she had, but he began to wonder if they shared some sort of spiritual connection, some profound bond that he couldn't logically explain. He had always felt inexplicably drawn to Mary. Being apart from her for those three torturous years had left him empty inside. Lavinia had filled the void, to an extent, but there was always a part of his heart that none but Mary could touch.

The minutes dragged by as they held each other in the dark. Their shared warmth, and the comfort of having each other close, eventually lulled them both to sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, folks, looks like we're getting somewhere. We'll see what happens in the morning next time!

One quick blanket response to several reviews I've received:

I have heard from several readers that they hope Mary will tell Matthew how she feels. This will come in stages, but I firmly believe that, if she just blurted out her feelings for him, he would be unable to accept them, and would withdraw from her. Mary knows better than to do that. This is supported by M/M's bench conversation in Episode 6, where Matthew says that if he thought he was an argument against Mary's marriage to Sir Richard he wouldn't allow her anywhere near him. He still needs a bit more time to heal emotionally before he can accept that she loves and wants him in a romantic way.

Hope that clears some things up! Thank you ever so much for reading and reviewing!


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

Consciousness began to intrude on Mary's blessedly deep slumber, and she shifted in her sleep. Suddenly, she was jolted awake by the sensation of falling. A strong arm tightened around her waist before she could tumble ungracefully to the floor.

"Oops! I've got you," Matthew's raspy, sleepy voice greeted her, and she instinctually snuggled back into his warmth.

"If you're going to make a habit of crawling into bed with me in the middle of the night, I'm going to need a bigger bed."

Matthew's cheerful tone finally brought Mary fully back to consciousness, and she sat bolt upright on the bed.

"Matthew!" she exclaimed. "I...I spent the entire night in your bed! What time is it?"

Reaching over to retrieve his watch from the bed stand, Matthew informed her that it was just after eight in the morning.

"Oh, dear," Mary groaned, rubbing her bleary eyes with both hands. "I've absolutely no idea how I shall make it back to my room without being seen."

"Then you may as well stay a bit longer," he offered, pulling her down beside him again.

Mary nestled contentedly into his side, finding herself completely unable to care if the entire world knew she had spent the night in Matthew's bed, as long as she didn't have to leave him just yet. His hands rubbed lazy circles on her back and the arm that she had slung over his mid-section. She hummed softly in contentment.

"This is rather nice, isn't it?" he asked.

Mary hummed again in reply, finding that speaking required too much effort at the moment.

"If we were married, would you stay with me like this every night?"

She hummed again in assent. Several seconds later, her eyes snapped open as his meaning penetrated her sleep-fogged mind. She pushed up on one arm so that she could see his face.

"You mean, you've decided?" she asked breathlessly.

"I have," he answered. "But, after a great deal of thought, I find that I cannot accept your proposal."

Mary's face fell. It seemed that she had misunderstood his meaning.

"Oh," she murmured, disappointment threatening to overwhelm her. "I should warn you then, that I'm not Lavinia. I won't just... give up on what I want simply because you say so. If you think you can brush _me_ off and hear the end of it, you have anther thing..."

Matthew pushed himself into a sitting position, supporting himself on one hand as his other reached out to silence her ramblings by touching a finger to her lips. He was momentarily distracted by how incredibly soft they were.

"I was trying to say, if you don't mind," he began, looking pointedly into her eyes. "I am still _half_ a man, after all, and I do have _some_ pride to uphold."

Mary pushed his fingers away testily. She always hated when he said foolish things like that.

"Oh, Matthew, I've told you, time and again, not to say such things..."

"Just let me finish, Mary!" he spoke with a slight chuckle, reaching for her hand.

"I was trying to say that, I cannot accept _your_ proposal...but, I hope that you will accept mine."

Mary met his eyes, deep blue and bright with mischief at the cruel trick he had played on her. Her heart began to pound as his eyes dropped to her lips, then returned to lock with her own eyes.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he spoke in a soft, rich voice, "would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

A brilliant smile lit Mary's face, as she immediately answered in the affirmative. Almost before she could process another thought, his lips were on hers, the hand that held her hand now cupping the back of her neck. Mary wanted to cry for joy at the feel of his lips lightly caressing hers. It had been so very, very long since she had known such contentment and such desire. Despite the strength of her desire for more, she held her own enthusiasm carefully in check, allowing Matthew to set the pace. She followed his lead, brushing her lips lightly against his and returning his gentle pressure. It was a soft kiss, light and teasing. Much like their very first kiss, she thought.

Kissing Mary sent a sharp thrill of desire shooting through Matthew's body, and not only the parts that still functioned correctly. He gasped into her mouth as he suddenly became aware of a familiar twinge between his legs. He half expected there to be a tent in the sheet when he looked down, but there was nothing. Dr. Clarkson had warned him to expect something like this. It was the memory of a feeling once very familiar to him. He brushed his lips over hers again, and the feeling returned. What beautiful torment, he thought, that his body could remember the feeling of arousal, but not the feeling of release. Being with Mary would be sweet torture indeed.

As much as he desired to continue what he had begun - to deepen the kiss and possess her in all the ways still available to him - Matthew forced himself to pull back from the temptation of her sweet mouth. He wanted there to be at least something new and special to look forward to on their wedding night. Once again, he felt his familiar melancholy descending over him, crushing the happy thoughts and feelings that had gripped him only moments ago.

Mary couldn't help but notice the sudden change in him. He seemed desperately sad, and she dearly hoped he wasn't already regretting his decision.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's nothing," he answered automatically, fighting to put on a brave face for his new fiance.

Mary's fingers brushed against his, and he eagerly grasped her hand.

"I was hoping that we could marry as soon as the bans can be read, if that's alright with you," Mary ventured hesitantly.

Receiving no response to her statement, she continued:

"That will give us about three weeks to plan. What with the scandal still so fresh, we shouldn't have anything too grand. I am anxious to be able to go into town again, so the sooner the better."

Matthew grunted in response, obviously disinterested in her words. He was clearly more absorbed by his own thoughts than his new fiance. Mary tried to brush away her hurt at his sudden withdrawal, but her heart clenched painfully, still. They had only been engaged for a few minutes, and he had already lost interest in the idea.

Clearing her throat to make sure her voice was strong, Mary asked, matter-of-factly, if Matthew was ready to have Bates help him get up and dress for the day.

"It would be best if you would have him assist you in dressing this morning," she began, forcing herself to control her emotions, both wonderful and painful ones, until she reached the solitude of her room. "I'll collect you for breakfast after I've dressed."

Matthew nodded, but said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the blanket that covered his useless legs and...other things. The thought had always made him angry and sad, but, after kissing and holding Mary for those torturously blissful moments, it made his stomach churn. He feared that if he were to look at her, to be reminded of her loveliness, he would be sick all over the bed.

After the door clicked shut behind Mary, Matthew lay back down on the pillow and threw his arm over his eyes. He was so frustrated with himself. He hadn't even been engaged to Mary five minutes, and he was already second-guessing his decision. When he had awoken to find her darling face nestled under his arm, the decision had seemed so simple. Then she had almost rolled off the bed, and he had caught her, and she had come back into his arms so naturally. At that moment, he had felt certain that he could be happy with only what they were currently sharing. Mary seemed content, as well. Then he had kissed her. It had felt so right, at first, then so horribly, horribly wrong.

He purposely recalled every aspect of that kiss. Every touch, smell, and feeling Mary had provoked in him since she had slipped into his bed was drawn to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to get that feeling back, that phantom feeling of arousal. He remembered the taste of her lips, and it was there again. Fainter, but there. Shoving his hand into his pajama pants, he tried desperately to get a reaction from his body.

_Come on. Please feel something. Please! _

It was no use. He couldn't actually _feel_ anything. It had only been a illusion.

He pounded his fists on the mattress angrily, wishing he could get out of the bed by himself so that he could break something. Now he was engaged to Mary, however foolhardy such a decision had been. He certainly couldn't back out on her at that point. It would be completely ungallant and dishonorable. She had seemed genuinely happy about their engagement. It was unfortunate that her happiness couldn't last, not after the reality of what she had tied herself to set in. They would both be miserable, and there was no easy way out for either of them.

A full-scale meltdown might have been imminent had Bates not knocked on the door when he did. The sudden sound startled Matthew, at first. Then he remembered he shouldn't have been surprised. Mary had said she would have Bates sent to him.

Matthew forced himself to go blank inside, as he had while in the trenches. He forced himself to care not for his own well-being or for anyone or anything else. He didn't want to _feel_ or _think_, so he simply didn't.

If Bates was concerned by the haunted look in the young soldier's eyes, he didn't comment. That was Lady Mary's department, so he would leave her to it. He did, however, pat Matthew's shoulder in a friendly, reassuring manner before leaving him, sitting, fully-dressed, shaved, and presentable, in his chair.

* * *

As soon as her bedroom door closed behind her, Mary leaned heavily against it, her body and mind feeling hopelessly torn between joy and misery. Last night, and for those few, brief moments that morning, everything had been wonderful. She had slept in his arms. Kissed him. Touched him. She could finally call him her fiance.

The thought put a serene smile on Mary's face. God, she had waited so long! Matthew had seemed happy, too, for a little while before his mood had rapidly deteriorated. She couldn't be sure what exactly had brought it on, but she was sure he had been on the verge of a meltdown of unprecedented proportions. She almost felt guilty for leaving him, but, somehow, she sensed that this internal battle wasn't one that would be helped by her presence. She immediately rang for Anna, instructing her to have Bates attend Matthew in his room before she returned to assist Mary in dressing for the day. Bates could deal with this meltdown. Mary didn't feel equal to the task for the first time since Matthew had returned from the front.

The timing of his sudden turn concerned her greatly. He had been kissing her so sweetly when, abruptly, he had looked down at the covers and withdrawn into himself. If only she could know the reason for his downturn. She briefly wondered if he missed Lavinia. No, surely he would have spoken of it by now. They spoke of everything, even things propriety dictated they shouldn't. He would have told her if he was still missing his former fiance.

She worried that he was having second thoughts about marrying her. The thought sent a thrill of fear shooting through her body. She steeled herself for the possibility that he might try to break off their understanding. If that happened, she had already made herself clear to him that she wouldn't back down so easily. If that was the direction in which his thoughts tended, he may as well spare himself the trouble.

Mary had Anna help her dress and arrange her hair quickly that morning. She didn't want to keep Matthew waiting after their emotional morning. As she left her room to return to his, she worried about what she would find when she reached him. Would he still be sad? Angry? or simply silent and brooding?

When she entered his room, her heart dropped into her shoes. She was confronted with a Matthew she hadn't seen before. His steely eyes were cold and hard, completely devoid of any emotion at all. There was simply _nothing_. Even in his worst moments, there had always been _something_. Despair. Frustration. Amusement. Confusion. Rage. Affection. Desperation. Humiliation. Never just..._nothing_.

"Matthew?" She approached him slowly, carefully, as one might approach a wounded animal. There was no predicting how he would react to her presence. At the moment, she didn't know who he was. "Shall we go to breakfast?"

"Whatever you wish," he answered in a cold, clipped tone she didn't recognize any more than she recognized anything else about him at that moment. God, what had happened to him? He didn't even look up at her. His eyes focused blankly on the carpet at her feet.

Mary stood motionless, staring silently at him for what felt like ages. She didn't know what to do. Part of her wanted to turn and run from the room. Another part wanted to throw herself into his lap and press kisses to his face and mouth until he, the Matthew who had asked her to be his wife but an hour past, returned to her. She didn't know what to do, so she simply stood and stared. And he simply sat and stared. For several long, torturous minutes, there was only silence. In desperation, Mary closed her eyes and cried out silently to the one being she hoped might be able to help her.

"_God, help me"_ she prayed.

* * *

**A/N: **God, help us all! I'm not entirely happy with the way I ended this chapter, but it is what it is. It is chapter 13, after all.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **I feel like I should put a bit of a warning before this chapter. It is very dark, and contains some cursing. I debated using this idea because I wondered if it might be too extreme (you'll see what I mean). I think I made it work. Just be warned, you should have tissues ready!

Also, a big thanks to Willa Dedalus for suggesting the perfect song to go along with the last chapter, as well as the next few! It's called "White Blank Page" by Mumford and Sons. I downloaded it as soon as I read her review, and love love love it! I encourage readers to check it out on iTunes or YouTube or something and take a listen before reading the chapter. The music is soothing and calming (you'll need it, believe me!) and the lyrics are spot-on with what's happening in the story. I don't usually do the song thing with my fics, but I will make an exception for this one. Thank you, Willa!

**Quick recap of last time:**

When she entered his room, her heart dropped into her shoes. She was confronted with a Matthew she hadn't seen before. His steely eyes were cold and hard, completely devoid of any emotion at all. There was simply _nothing_. Even in his worst moments, there had always been _something_. Despair. Frustration. Amusement. Confusion. Rage. Affection. Desperation. Humiliation. Never just..._nothing_.

"Matthew?" She approached him slowly, carefully, as one might approach a wounded animal. There was no predicting how he would react to her presence. At the moment, she didn't know who he was. "Shall we go to breakfast?"

"Whatever you wish," he answered in a cold, clipped tone she didn't recognize any more than she recognized anything else about him at that moment. God, what had happened to him? He didn't even look up at her. His eyes focused blankly on the carpet at her feet.

Mary stood motionless, staring silently at him for what felt like ages. She didn't know what to do. Part of her wanted to turn and run from the room. Another part wanted to throw herself into his lap and press kisses to his face and mouth until he, the Matthew who had asked her to be his wife but an hour past, returned to her. She didn't know what to do, so she simply stood and stared. And he simply sat and stared. For several long, torturous minutes, there was only silence. In desperation, Mary closed her eyes and cried out silently to the one being she hoped might be able to help her.

"_God, help me"_ she prayed.

* * *

_Chapter 14_

_God, help me. Help me help him. Oh, God, what do I do? _

Mary prayed silently for strength and courage, for inspiration and tenderness...and everything else she would need to bring her Matthew back to her. He had retreated somewhere deep inside, hiding his true self and his feelings from the world. He was protecting himself, like a turtle drawing into its hard shell.

_Could being engaged to me really be so horrible? _

No, she wouldn't allow herself to think like that. Forcing her own emotions aside, Mary focused on Matthew, and what she could do to try to help him.

She briefly considered ordering him a tray for breakfast instead of taking him into the dining room. She didn't want to alarm anyone unnecessarily with Matthew's strange coldness, and there was no way to predict how he would behave in company. Coddling had never worked well with Matthew, however. It was usually better, when he was feeling down, to behave as normally as possible. Anything that could possibly be misconstrued as pity would only upset him further. But he didn't seem upset at the moment. That would have been preferable to his frightening blank stare. She could clearly see Matthew's form seated before her, but it seemed that _Matthew_ wasn't in it.

Mustering her courage, she approached him, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder as she moved behind him to push his chair. Matthew didn't budge at the contact, nor did he offer any comment or gesture whatsoever as she wheeled him into the dining room. It was a bit late in the morning, but they found several officers still hunched over their breakfast when they arrived. Mary pushed Matthew to the table closest to the door, and farthest from the other men, clearing a space for him as she made her way over to the sideboard to fill their plates.

Matthew watched her as she moved, blessedly free of the troublesome emotion that had plagued him earlier. He still knew that he loved her, that she was valuable to him. He had to fight hard...to stay alive so that he could return to her one day. His eyes moved about the room. There were several other soldiers nearby enjoying their rations. He wondered, as he always did, how many would survive the next day - the next hour, even. He had once carried wounded comrades to safety on his shoulders. Now he would be of no use, no help to his fellow soldiers at all. Just as he was no use to...no, he wouldn't think about that. He had to focus. This was war, after all. He was a machine, a well-oiled killing machine, nothing more. He couldn't afford to feel, or think. It had become startling easy not to.

But what was Mary doing in France? That was his place, not hers. She shouldn't be there, not with the enemy so near. What if he couldn't protect her? What if there was no Mary for him to return to after it was all over, when he could finally _feel_ again? He watched, helplessly, as a hostile approached her from behind while she bent unwittingly over her task. He watched as the parasite stood far too close to her, whispering some vile threat into her ear. There were others behind him, backing him up. Mary was alone. He should protect her. He should go to her. But he couldn't. He couldn't move at all.

It was like a nightmare, but it was real. He had to go to Mary, to save her! The enemy, the Germans, were closing in on her! Surrounding her! One of them put his hands on her!

"No! _No! _You stay away from her, you bloody, _fucking_ Hun!"

That drew the scum's attention long enough for Matthew to reach for his sidearm, but...it wasn't there! Good God, it wasn't there! There was no riffle on his back, either. No knife in his boot. They had disarmed him, somehow, when he was unaware. He would have to fight them with his bare hands. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Go to hell, German scum! I'll kill you with my bare hands if you touch her again!"

Blood pounded in his ears. All he could hear was the desperate thrumming of his heart. It was funny how it drowned out the gunfire, the explosion of shells and grenades, the sickening rattle of the machine gun. He had to protect Mary, but he couldn't see her any more. All he could see was red. He was just so _angry_, and so afraid. Where was Mary? Had he lost her already? Had the Germans taken her? He would kill them! He would kill them all!

* * *

Mary sighed as she began shoveling spoonfuls of egg and slices of ham onto two plates. She desperately hoped that Matthew's emotionless state would be short-lived. Otherwise, she wasn't sure how long she could stand it. That morning, she had fallen impossibly more deeply, more desperately, in love with the darling, sweet Matthew who had kissed her, and teased her, and caught her when she started to fall. Now it was Matthew who had fallen, slipped into a deep chasm that had opened up within himself. It was up to her to catch him, to pull him back up to where she was.

Deep in thought as she was, Mary was startled when one of the soldiers came up behind her. She turned to see that it was one she knew - or knew his face, anyway. She hadn't told Matthew, or anyone, for that matter, how many of the soldiers had shown her attention of one type or another. She supposed their knowledge of her scandal made them bolder in their advances than they might otherwise be. Her obvious preference for Matthew deterred some, but not all. Those who still persisted fell into one of two categories: those who were lonely and homesick, who only wished for a bit of harmless flirting to make them feel special and to fill their days; and those with dishonorable intentions - the ones she knew to avoid being caught alone with at all costs - the ones that prompted her to always lock her door at night. Fortunately, the soldier currently addressing her fell into the first category. She knew he didn't have any serious intentions towards her, of either the honorable or dishonorable brand, so she smiled politely and bore his good-natured flattery with as much grace as she could manage.

The young man was rather bold with her, standing close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck when he bid her "good morning," and paid her some poetic-sounding complement on her appearance. She thanked him quietly, throwing him a disapproving look from the corner of her eye, and moved on down the line to the platter of assorted pastries.

"Oh, come now, Lady Mary," the young soldier smiled flirtatiously at her. "I'm only tryin' to be friendly."

The officer touched her shoulder very lightly with one of his hands. Mary opened her mouth to rebuff him, but was quickly silenced by a frightening, furious voice that she would never have believed came out of Matthew's mouth if she didn't know it to be true.

"_No! No!_ _You stay away from her you bloody, fucking_ _Hun!" _

Everyone in the room froze and stared, wide-eyed at Matthew. Mary hardly recognized him. His face was red with fury, his eyes wild, every line hard and intense. His hand went automatically to his hip. He looked surprised, then panicked, as his hands patted all over his clothing, searching for something. Mary wouldn't allow herself to think of _what_. When his eyes returned to the group - she realized then that several other soldiers had lined up for second helpings behind them - he appeared resigned, and determined. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.

"_Go to hell, German scum! I'll kill you with my bare hands if you touch her again!"_

"Blimey!" Mary heard one of the men mutter behind her. "Crawley's cracked!"

"Get the fuck away from her!" Matthew yelled, becoming increasingly unsettled as the soldier with his hand on Mary's shoulder stood frozen in place, still too close to Mary. "Mary! _No_!"

Matthew threw the small folding table in front of him over onto its side, pitching precariously forward in his chair as he tried desperately to reach for Mary. His hands were reaching out, searching in her direction, but his eyes weren't focusing on her. Mary wanted to run to him, but she found herself unable to move at all. The plates of food she had filled had, at some point, fallen unheeded to the carpet at her feet. All she could think about was Matthew, and...dear God, what was happening to him?

The crash of the table jolted several of the soldiers into action. Four of them ran to his side, trying to hold him still, to calm him. Matthew only seemed terrified by their approach, and he fought them as best he could from his chair. For several moments, all Mary could see was a tangle of flying limbs within the circle of soldiers that surround Matthew, each trying to subdue him without taking a fist to the face or gut. Expletives and curses flew from his mouth in that frighteningly unfamiliar voice. One of the soldiers managed to get behind him, and he took hold of the handles of Matthew's chair, which was beginning to rock unsteadily with his erratic movements. The man had to jump quickly to the side to avoid an elbow in the ribs, causing the chair, and Matthew to turn sideways as well. This, unfortunately, put the wall within range of Matthew's flying fists.

Mary jumped as she heard his fist connect with the unforgiving wood of the doorframe, and she heard a sickening crunch. Matthew cried out in pain, but kept fighting, his wounded hand held tightly to his chest.

Mary was tremendously relieved when her father rushed into the room. One of the soldiers who witnessed the scene had thought to run for him.

"Everyone, out of the way!" Robert commanded. "Give him some space!"

The soldiers backed up a few steps.

"On second thought, everyone out," Robert instructed, and they were soon left alone with a terrified, trembling Matthew.

Once alone, Robert's eyes moved first to his daughter where she stood still as a statue by the sideboard. Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks were wet with tears she didn't even realize had started to fall. Next, he looked at his young cousin, and his heart filled with compassion and sadness. Matthew had seemed perfectly fine only the day before. What on earth had happened to him?

"Matthew," Robert began softly, holding a hand out in front of him as he carefully approached Matthew. "It's me, Robert. You're safe at Downton Abbey. There are no Germans here. You must calm down, my boy."

Matthew seemed confused, at first, his eyes darting around him for any sign of the enemy that had surrounded him only moments ago.

"Matthew," Robert tried again, squatting down in front of Matthew's chair. Robert placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder. Matthew jumped, but then calmed. His eyes were searching Robert's face as if he were trying to figure out some profound mystery. "It's alright, Matthew. You're safe. This is Downton Abbey. You're home."

"Mary," Matthew spoke softly, then with increased volume. "They have Mary!"

Snapping instantly out of her shock at the sound of her name, Mary ran to his side, taking his face between her hands to make him look at her.

"I'm here, Matthew. Nobody has me. I'm here," she spoke gently, smoothing the harsh lines of his face with her thumbs.

"Mary?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, darling. I'm here. Dear God, Matthew what's wrong?" A fresh round of tears began to fall, and Mary could feel her legs beginning to weaken.

Matthew looked down at his feet, blinked several times, and shook his head. His eyes closed tightly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. When his eyes opened again, Mary nearly sobbed with relief. _Her_ Matthew was back.

"Good God, Robert, I'm so sorry! Mary, I'm so..."

"It's alright," Mary interrupted him, jumping into action. "Papa, fetch Isobel at once! I'll take Matthew to his room. On second thought, quickly have someone go for her. I'll need you to help me get him into bed. And we'll need plenty of ice."

Robert nodded and followed Mary and Matthew from the room. Thomas, who had heard the commotion and had immediately ran to investigate, was sent for Isobel and for the requested ice.

Once back in Matthew bedroom, Robert lifted him carefully into bed. He was still breathing erratically, his body trembling. Mary immediately seated herself against the headboard and cradled his head in her lap. She slumped over him, burying her face in his hair as she continued to weep. Never in her life had she been so frightened, not even when he had first arrived at the hospital. Feeling that his assistance was no longer needed, Robert quietly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, Matthew, what's happening to you?" Mary sobbed into his hair. "I was so frightened."

"Mary," he whispered her name reverently, prayerfully. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to see that."

His good hand come up to grasp one of her own, and Mary began peppering kisses all over his forehead, cheeks, temples, nose...anywhere she could reach.

"Oh, darling, your hand!" she exclaimed, gently reaching for his injured hand. It was pitifully red and swollen. She could tell that, at least, the last two fingers were broken. The sight made her weep anew.

"Don't cry for me, Mary," Matthew tried to console her. "I've had worse."

Before another word could be spoken, Isobel bustled into the room. She had been apprised of Matthew's outburst by Robert before entering, medical bag in hand. Dr. Clarkson was too busy at the hospital to be called over for anything a nurse could handle, and Isobel was confident she could set broken fingers well enough. What she witnessed between the two young cousins as she entered made her heart swell. There was her poor, broken son being held so tenderly by the woman he had loved for so many years. He was looking up at her with such pure adoration...Isobel prayed that God would reward her beloved boy for all the sadness and hardship he was being put through.

Mary held Matthew tightly as he valiantly tried not to cry out as Isobel set his broken fingers. Afterwards, the injured hand was wrapped and placed in a bowl of ice. Exhausted, Matthew drifted off to sleep, lulled by Mary's steady stroking of his hair.

"Mary, do you have any idea - any idea at all - what brought this...episode on?" Isobel asked.

"I don't know," Mary answered quickly. "I...I do know that the initial decline in his mood began just after...after he kissed me."

Isobel raised her eyebrows, but quickly replaced her look of surprise with a knowing look. She really shouldn't have been surprised. She knew how her son felt about this young woman.

"And that was just after we decided to get married," Mary continued.

Isobel's face immediately brightened at the news. Perhaps her son wouldn't have to live a lonely life of interminable solitude after all.

"Oh, my dear! I'm so pleased! So very, very pleased," she effused. "I know you'll make him happy again. You will give him a reason - something to live for, and look forward to. I think you're just what he needs."

"I thought...or, I _hoped_ so, too. But then he... took that horrible turn, and now I don't know anymore. Maybe, our marriage isn't a good thing for him, if it makes him...Oh, Isobel, it was awful!"

Mary's eyes filled with fresh tears, and her voice failed her. She hugged Matthew closer.

"Just talk to him about it, when he wakes up. Perhaps he can help shed some light on the subject. He may be able to identify what triggered his turn, and, you can avoid that trigger from now on."

Mary nodded, but felt an unnerving sense of dread settle in the pit of her stomach. What if kissing her was the trigger, the thing they had to avoid forever? How would she bear it? She knew she would bear it, somehow, as long as she could be with Matthew, but her heart would be simply broken if they couldn't share any intimacy at all.

She remained by his side for next hour while he slept, changing the ice on his swollen hand and gently fingering his matted hair. Isobel hadn't been able to sit with them for long, as there were others who needed her assistance. Mary was glad, for she needed quiet time to think. So much had happened in the few hours since she had awoken that morning, she just couldn't quite process it.

At last, Matthew began to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and - God bless him! - he smiled at her.

"Hello," he greeted her sweetly, drawing a joyful smile from the furthest reaches of Mary's battered heart.

"Hello," she responded, taking his good hand in both of hers.

They spoke amiably for a few minutes about how Matthew's hand was feeling, and other mundane, safe topics before Mary gathered her courage to ask him about what weighed heavily on her mind.

"Matthew, what happened earlier? Do you have any idea what caused you to be so...so frightened and...and confused at breakfast?"

Matthew sighed and took a moment to gather his thoughts before replying.

"I believe I do, yes," he answered. "For the first time since returning home, I forced myself to go into a state of complete numbness. No thinking. No feeling. Just numbness. It's something I perfected in the trenches. It's how I was able to commit the unspeakable violence demanded of me there. It wasn't long before that slipped further into me actually thinking I _was_ there."

"But why did you want to be...numb? What triggered that?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

Matthew looked away from her, trying to find the words, but coming up short.

"I can't speak of it now, Mary. I'm sorry, but I just can't," he blurted out quickly.

"Was it me? Was it something I did?"

"No," he quickly reassured her, squeezing the hands that held his. "You were...wonderful this morning. It's me. It's only me. You're wonderful."

Mary sighed with relief, and gifted him with a serene smile. It only lasted a moment before she was, once again, serious.

"Matthew, you must promise me that you won't allow yourself to become like that again. You were a danger to yourself, as well as to others. Promise me you won't become numb again. I know it hurts. I know. But you must allow yourself to feel the pain, so that you...we... can work through it. I'll always be here with you, to help you through it all. In three weeks, I will make you that promise before God and man. You'll see. Everything will be alright, because we will be together... as we always should have been."

Encouraged by her heartfelt words, Matthew promised that he would never again revert to his war-time mentality. For him, the war was over. It was in the past, and would remain as such.

"Speaking of everything being as it should," Matthew continued, "once we're married, I hope that the other soldiers will cease behaving so disrespectfully towards you. To say that it makes me angry would be an understatement."

Mary scoffed lightly, having born witness to the fact only hours past.

For several minutes there was silence between them. Mary felt so tired, so emotionally and physically drained.

"Mind if I get in with you?" she asked.

"Of course not," Matthew answered eagerly, scooting as far to one side as he could to make room for her.

Mary removed her shoes and climbed in beside him. His good arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close to him. Mary held herself above him for a few moments, leaning close to gently caress his lips with hers. She pulled first his top, then bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently as her tongue sweetly caressed and tasted. Matthew sighed in pure delight, his tongue darting out to touch hers only briefly. Both wanted to do more, but they would have a wedding night in three weeks and they seemed to have formed an unspoken agreement to save something special for that night. Exhausted and stressed, but finally happy again, Mary nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and slept.

* * *

**A/N 2: **Phew! Did we lose anybody there? I'm so emotionally drained by writing this chapter. I got the feeling that Matthew probably went through a lot more than PBS could show us, so I thought this was appropriate. I also think that his engagement to Mary is making things a bit harder on him than they would have been in the canon version. Or, at least, it's bringing things to the surface that he would have suppressed in the canon version. Does that make sense?

Anyways, next time we get to see the family's reaction to the engagement.

Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! Your kind words and support always make my day. :)


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15_

As pleasant as a nap with Mary tucked cozily into his side was, Matthew's stomach wouldn't allow her to remain asleep for longer than a half-hour. In all the turmoil and mayhem he had caused with his unprecedentedly-large meltdown that morning, neither of them had been able to consume any breakfast. It was now nearly noon.

"Mary. Sweetheart," he whispered softly into her fragrant hair as he gently shook her awake with the arm that was wrapped securely around her waist.

Mary stirred and groaned in protest as she felt consciousness encroaching on her lovely repose. Matthew's throaty chuckle brought her about. Any reminder of him made her desire to see his captivating eyes above any other consideration, including sleep. Turning slightly onto her stomach, she rested her chin on his chest, looking up into their blue depths. They were shining and full of mirth.

"Good morning again, Sleeping Beauty," he spoke with a smile. His good hand traced up her spine, tickling the sensitive skin of her neck, before gently stroking her soft cheek.

"If you want me to call you 'Charming,' you can forget it," Mary teased him. "Don't you know that a _real_ prince wakes his princess with a kiss?"

"Would you like a kiss, darling?" he asked, his voice suddenly tender.

"I think a kiss would be agreeable," Mary answered, feigning an air of calm disinterest.

"Then, come here, and allow me to give you one."

Smiling, Mary leaned over him and kissed him softly, savoring the firm feel of his lips moving against hers. It was so delicious, just to be able to do _this_. It would be enough. _He_ would be more than enough.

"When are we going to tell everyone about our engagement?" Matthew asked after they pulled apart.

"I already told your mother," Mary answered. "She seemed pleased."

"When was this?" he asked with a raised brow.

"While you were sleeping earlier. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I'm more worried about what your mother will think than mine," Matthew mused. He knew Lady Grantham disapproved of the time Mary was spending with him, though she seemed to be trying to hide it - probably at her husband's command. It made him sad to think that she was right to be concerned. He really wasn't what was best for Mary. If the world were a fairer place, her future would be much brighter, and much more full.

Seeing the smile leave his face and the sad, haunted look return, Mary gently stroked the backs of her fingers over his cheek, her heart deeply pained by his apparent sadness. As always, she wondered at what had caused it. There never seemed to be any tangible reason behind his sudden turns.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, taking his hand in hers.

Matthew visibly brightened at the sound of her voice, and he returned her grip on his hand.

"I'm fine," he answered, his voice full of false cheer. He had told Mary, not twenty-four hours past, that he was trying to do better - to act better - for her sake. After the unfortunate events of that morning, he resolved to try harder. Mary didn't deserve a fiance who behaved like a wild beast without reason or control. He would do all he could not to be a burden on her.

"I suppose we could make the announcement at dinner. Shall we invite Cousin Violet?" he asked, the optimism in his voice sounding slightly more convincing.

"Yes," Mary answered with an eager smile. "I imagine she'll be pleased with the news. Granny has always championed me in whatever course I chose for myself. You, more than anyone, know that she was my staunchest supporter in the fight to break the entail. I think she'll be pleased that I've found a way to make Downton mine, after all."

Matthew smiled fondly at the memory of his fiancé's grandmother - such a force to be reckoned with, despite her frail appearance - pushing into his office and seating herself in his swivel chair, demanding that he collect all the information that could be had on the entail. As surprised as he had been, he couldn't help but admire her gumption. It was the same indomitable spirit that he so admired in Mary. No matter her obvious dislike, and even mild hostility, towards him in the first days of their acquaintance, he had grown to greatly admire Cousin Violet, as he had grown to love Mary. It was a trait he had always seen and looked up to in his mother. It made sense, therefore, that it was a trait he would desire in a wife.

Before another word could be spoken between them, Matthew's stomach made its needs quite loudly and embarrassingly known. Mary giggled at his slightly abashed look, and rose to ring for a tray.

* * *

Mary took her time selecting a dress for dinner that evening, wanting to look her best for Matthew. She was his fiancé now, and she wanted him to be proud of the fact. He still had reservations about their union, that much was obvious. He had never spoken of the source of these scruples, but she could venture a guess. As much as she had tried to help him rebuild his self-esteem, her work in that area was far from finished. He had made another of those blasted comments about being only "half a man" earlier that morning - proof enough that he still entertained such grossly untrue thoughts. She would have to keep trying, to keep showing him, through carefully-chosen words and gestures, that he was more than man enough for her, for Downton...for _himself_.

After a great deal of deliberation, Mary selected the red dress with the damask design on the bodice to wear for the announcement of her engagement to Matthew. It was one of her favorites. She loved the color. Red always made her feel powerful and attractive. It was her go-to color when a boost in confidence was needed, so it seemed an obvious choice for that particular night.

The look in Matthew's eyes as she entered his room to help Bates finish readying him for dinner confirmed the rightness of her choice.

"Mary, you look absolutely stunning this evening," Matthew complemented her as his eyes took in the lovely picture she presented. "Red becomes you very well."

"Thank you," she answered happily. "If I remember correctly, it becomes you very well, too."

The memory of that first time she had seen Matthew after over a year of separation, when he had been wearing the very red uniform jacket that Bates was meticulously brushing off, sent a thrill through her body. She had thought he had never looked so absolutely beautiful as he had that night. As much as she had hated that he had gone off to war, it had done wonderful things for his appearance. He was leaner, his handsome features made sharper and less boyish, and his body appeared trimmer and harder. Even the way he carried himself bespoke strength and confidence. He seemed to have somehow grown taller. The red of his jacket had set off the blue of his eyes and the gold of his hair perfectly. For only a moment, Mary had allowed herself to imagine how proud she would have been to call him her husband, to hang on his arm and announce to the entire world that he was hers and hers alone. Then he had looked up at her briefly, his eyes betraying the distaste and resentment he still felt for her in the brief moment before their luminous shine had been returned to the fortunate lady who did have the privilege of claiming him as her own.

Now the tables had turned. On this night, and forever more, he was _hers_. The thought caused her breast to swell with joy and excitement. Her eyes moved over her fiancé's form, seated in his chair in only his briefs. She had seen him unclothed many times while caring for him, and each time she was struck with the beauty of his form. Even unable to stand, he seemed so strong. She loved the wide set of his shoulders and the narrowness of his trim waist. Pushing himself around in his chair had made his arms and shoulders even stronger and more deliciously sculpted. If only he could see himself through her eyes, he would never again feel inadequate or less than masculine. Even the smattering of scars across his chest and belly were beautiful to Mary. He was her Perseus, her strong, brave hero. On their wedding night she would kiss every one of those scars. She would show him how _potent_ and desirable he still was in her eyes.

Mary assisted Bates in dressing Matthew, though he could have done perfectly well on his own. Matthew laughed and teased her for being impatient. Mary truly only wanted an excuse to allow her fingers to brush over his warm, soft skin as she adjusted the garments around his fine form. She dismissed Bates when the red jacket was the only piece remaining, wishing for a moment alone with her fiance before they left to face their family.

She adjusted the scarlet cloth over his shoulders from behind before moving to kneel in front of him. Her fingers deftly buttoned and adjusted his clothing, ensuring that everything was in its proper place.

"There now," she stated as she looked over her handiwork with obvious satisfaction. "You look very smart."

"Thank you, but I have two very capable valets who must take all the credit," Matthew answered with a teasing grin.

Mary took both his hands in hers, sighing deeply at the thought of what was to come. There was sure to be very strong reactions to their news, ranging from rapturous approval to strong disapproval and everything in between.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked.

"Are you?" he countered back.

"As I'll ever be, I suppose," Mary answered with a sigh.

"Let's go have it over with, then," Matthew suggested, knowing he would need to act quickly before his doubts rose to the forefront again.

With a resolute nod of her head, Mary stood and moved behind his chair. Together, they made their way to the dining room.

Everyone was standing together in the hall, the parlor that would normally have served as meeting place having been taken over by rows of hospital beds. They were the last to arrive, so the party went in to dinner after greetings were briefly exchanged.

Mary could see that her father and mother were curious about the Dowager Countess' unexpected arrival. She hadn't told anyone that she had invited her grandmother, so expectations were bound to have been raised. Dinner would be an awkward affair, both before and after the announcement was made.

As always, Mary placed Matthew at the corner of the table, near her father's seat, and placed herself beside him, on the side of his uninjured right hand. Isobel claimed the seat on Mary's other side, and gave her a look that promised her support when the storm broke. Lady Grantham was seated across from Matthew, which seemed rather unfortunate to Mary. She wouldn't want him to witness the look on her mother's face when the announcement was made, but it couldn't be helped. She dearly hoped her mother would be able to control her reaction. Mary was glad, however, that her grandmother had chosen the seat beside her mother and directly across from Mary's seat. Between her father and grandmother, she hoped her mother's strong negative reaction would be quelled.

Mary and Matthew glanced frequently at each other throughout the first courses. They hadn't made a plan for which of them would make the announcement or when it would be done, so, by the time the desert course was served, Mary decided to put an end to their suspense. She took a deep breath and schooled her features into a serene smile that would brook no attempts to rain on her parade, and clanked her fork against her glass to signal her desire for everyone's attention.

"If I may have your attention, please, I have an announcement to make...or, I should say, _we _have an announcement to make," Mary reached for Matthew's hand as she said the last, looking to him to second her motion.

"Ah...yes," Matthew spoke hesitantly, taken off guard by Mary's sudden declaration. "Mary, would you care to...?"

Mary nodded and turned back to the room, daring her family members with her eyes to try to stop her from taking her chosen course.

"Matthew and I have decided to get married."

For several interminable moments, the room fell completely silent before everyone began talking at once. Mary's eyes had immediately focused on her mother, from whom she expected the strongest negative reaction. She cringed and braced herself for impact when her mother's eyes flashed angrily and she opened her mouth to speak. Fortunately, Lord Grantham halted his wife's protestations with a firm hand on her arm.

"Cora, please save it for when you can speak privately with Mary. I don't think you would wish to cause an unpleasant scene at the dinner table," she heard her father whisper pointedly in her mother's direction.

Lady Grantham remained silently gazing at her untouched desert, and Mary shot her father a grateful smile. Mary's eyes moved next to her grandmother. She was surprised to see that the older woman had tears in her eyes. Never before had Mary known her grandmother to shed a tear.

Seeing her granddaughter's scrutiny, the Dowager Countess spoke in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "my dear, I'm so happy for you. This is good news, indeed, that - after everything you both have been through - that you finally have found your way to each other."

"Thank you, Granny. I'm very happy."

"Yes, thank you, Cousin Violet," Matthew spoke up. "I'm pleased that I will finally be able to give Mary what she deserves. That is...I will be able to give her Downton and...all else that is rightfully hers."

Matthew cursed under his breath after his ill-conceived speech. _What an incredibly unfortunate choice of words_, he thought. He could see by the smug look on Lady Grantham's face that she was thinking along the same lines. No, he couldn't give Mary what she truly deserved - a husband who was a whole man. He took a deep breath, and squeezed Mary's hand, willing himself to hold it together until he could be alone. He wouldn't wish to cause two scenes in one day.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Robert's hand clapping him on the back.

"My dear chap, I'm so pleased."

"Thank you, Robert. I hoped you would be."

"Of course, of course. Now, if everybody's finished eating, perhaps the ladies would like to move on to the drawing room. I would like to have a word alone with my future son-in-law."

Heeding Lord Grantham's decree, the ladies rose from their seats and began to move towards the door. Mary squeezed Matthew's hand one more time before relinquishing it. As soon as she stepped out into the hall, she felt her mother's hand close around her arm.

"Mary, we need to talk. In private."

"Of course, Mama," Mary answered, steeling herself to defend her decision against the onslaught to come. "Shall we go up to my room?"

Lady Grantham nodded tensely, and the two ladies made their excuses and began climbing the stairs.

* * *

**A/N:** Next time: We get to listen in on Matthew's conversation with Robert and Mary's conversation with Cora, and the Dowager Countess lays down the law.

Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **Here it is, guys and gals. Just a reminder, we are still in the same day as two chapters ago when M&M became engaged and Matthew had his mega-meltdown. Seems like a lot of chapters to cover just one day, but it's a very eventful one. Enjoy!

_Chapter 16_

Mary lay awake well into the night, thoughts of the day's many momentous events crowding her mind. So much had transpired since she had awakened at Matthew's side that morning. Had it really only been twelve hours since they became engaged? since that first sweet kiss of their new lives together?

Then poor, darling Matthew had suffered that horrible meltdown, and, now, had two broken fingers on top of everything else. As if he needed anything else to give him pain. Her only consolation was that, as his hand had begun to bother him toward the end of the evening, Matthew had accepted a sleeping draught, and was, at that very moment, deeply and peacefully asleep.

Mary thought back to the conversation she had had with her mother after the announcement. It had been difficult, but, once it was over, she had been glad it had taken place. Her mother might never be completely happy for her, but at least she would no longer try to dissuade her from this path. Mary was sure she had made her position perfectly and unmistakably clear.

As soon as the bedroom door had closed behind her, Mary had turned to her mother and began speaking in a resolute and decisive tone.

"Mama, before you say anything, allow me to make one thing clear. I love Matthew. I have loved him for years. I want to be with him more than anything else, and I'll be damned if I let anything - and I do mean _anything_ - come between us again. Now, if you wish to say your piece, I will listen while you do. Just know that I am certain that nobody, not even you, can convince me to give him up. No possible consideration could mean more to me than he does."

Lady Grantham was taken aback by her daughter's vehemence. It had been evident to her that Mary harbored some level of affection for her charge, but she had assumed Mary's determination to marry Matthew had sprung from some misguided sense of obligation or overblown feelings of pity. Love wasn't something she had considered. It wasn't enough, however, to stop her from trying to sway her daughter's decision to, what she believed to be, a wiser course.

"Mary, darling, I must beg you to reconsider this decision," Cora began.

Seeing Mary's mouth open to offer a rebuttal, Cora held up a hand to put a stop to her daughter's interruption and continued to speak.

"I...understand that you have become...quite attached to Matthew. And, perhaps for now, spending time with him is nice. However, I firmly believe that, if you do marry him, you will come, one day, to regret your decision. You may not have much desire for a family now, but one day you will. And then where will you be? Stuck with a husband who is unable to give you children. I don't think that would make either you or Matthew very happy.

"If you were to go to America, at least you would be giving yourself a chance to find someone who can give you all that you deserve. All I'm asking is that you try. Don't give up on having a full life just yet. It's only been a month since the scandal broke. There may be hope remaining yet, especially if you go to America. Just try, and, if, in a few years, you still haven't found anybody else you can care for then come home...marry Matthew. Just don't do anything rash, and remember that our kind don't marry for love. If it comes, then it's wonderful, but it isn't the most important thing. Consider that. That's all I'm asking."

Mary paused after her mother had done speaking, making sure that she had said all she intended to before offering a response.

"I do see where you're coming from, Mama. Truly, I do. I don't expect you to understand how I feel. You never had to know what it was like to lose Papa; to see him...belong to another woman; to...live for years with the regret of having lost the only man you could ever truly love because of your own stupidity. No, I don't expect you to understand. But I do expect you to respect and accept my decision. I only want children if they're Matthew's children. Can _you_ imagine having anybody's children but Papa's?" Mary looked imploringly at her mother, silently pleading with the older woman to understand. Cora merely looked concernedly back at her daughter, answering Mary's troubling question with only a soft sigh.

"I'm going to marry him, and that's all there is to say about it," she concluded.

"So you won't even consider your grand-mama's generous offer to help you start over in America? You want to just...throw your life and youth away on a man who has so little to offer you? You know what, Mary? I think you're just being stubborn. Stubborn, selfish, and headstrong. You never have known what was good for you!"

By the end of her speech, Cora's voice had increased in volume to the point that Mary was certain her mother could be heard in the hall. It was the first time in her adult life she had heard her poised and collected lady of a mother raise her voice.

"I _won't_ give him up, Mama," she responded cooly, steady in her resolve. "I kept my promise to hear you out. There is nothing further to discuss. Matthew and I will be married in three weeks time."

"Three weeks!" Cora exclaimed. "Mary, I just don't understand the need for such urgency. You seem singularly incapable of making rational, wise decisions. Can't you see how incredibly selfish it is of Matthew to tie you down to such a life? If he cared about you at all..."

Mary opened her mouth to respond, angered beyond expression by her mother's disparagement of Matthew. Before she could utter a word, however, she was forced to jump quickly to the side to avoid being hit by the door as it swung open.

"Forgive me, you two, but I couldn't help but overhear."

The Dowager Countess strode authoritatively to the center of the room, immediately assuming charge of the situation.

"It seems you ladies are in need of a referee, otherwise I fear you may come to blows. Cora," she turned and pointed her walking stick in the Countess' direction, "I would be careful with what I said about Matthew, if I were you. I've never seen Mary so tenaciously protective of anything in my life. Her love and devotion to that kind, gentle young man is a credit to her."

There was a momentary silence before Violet continued, her voice strong with conviction.

"And, if Mary doesn't defend Matthew against your...silly accusations, then I certainly will! That boy is every inch the gentleman. I saw it from the first! Furthermore, he loves Mary more than his own life. Anybody with eyes can see that. He wouldn't be agreeing to this marriage if Mary didn't have him somehow convinced that it was what was best for her."

Mary felt her face heating up at her grandmother's words - words that brought to light the mild deception she had employed to convince Matthew to agree to the engagement. She hadn't been honest with him about her feelings. She couldn't have been. She would have lost him. At the same time, her heart was swelling within her chest at the notion that he might still love her. If only she could allow herself to believe it. That, after everything she had done, how she had hurt him, how she had done him wrong - that he might still love her.

"Granny's right," Mary spoke softly. "The engagement was my idea. I...proposed to him...after a fashion. I told him that my greatest desire in life, now that I am ruined, was to be the future Countess of Grantham, and, more immediately, that marriage would help repair my reputation. He knows nothing of your offer to send me to America, and I insist that we keep it that way. Matthew is too self-sacrificing for his own good. You were so wrong about him, Mama. I don't deserve his love. God knows, I've done little enough to earn it. If...some day, he can find it in his heart to love me the way he once did, then I will be the happiest of women. It's _all_ I want. No matter his physical limitations, he's still my very best friend, as well as the wonderful, beautiful man I've been in love with for the past four years. Who else could I _possibly_ wish to spend my life with?"

"Here, here." The Dowager Countess seconded Mary's heartfelt speech with a hearty rap of her stick on the carpeted floor. "Cora, Mary and Matthew are both grown. Their lives are their own to do with as they will, and we should all leave them to it. I, for one, think it's splendid that they've finally found a way to be together, after all this time. Anyone with eyes can see that those two young people were formed for each other from the womb, I've _always_ thought as such. If Mary wants to wed the boy, then we should all support her. After all, she will have her rightful inheritance one day as mistress of Downton. If I recall, that was rather an important matter a few years ago."

Violet turned gracefully back towards her stunned granddaughter, and placed a light kiss on the girl's soft cheek.

"Congratulations again, my dear. I don't believe you could possibly have chosen a better man for yourself."

"Thank you, Granny. No, I certainly couldn't have. There is no better man than Matthew. No matter what anyone thinks, I know he can make me very happy."

"No doubt he will," the Dowager Countess agreed sweetly. "Now, I am going to speak one sentence, and one sentence only, on this subject, so listen carefully."

There was a loaded pause as Mary awaited her grandmother's mysterious words of wisdom. Mary wasn't even sure Violet could blush, but she seemed to be giving it her best effort.

"There is a great deal more to intimacy between a man and wife, when there is love involved, than the actual act of intercourse."

That unprecedentedly bold statement from the usually-proper matriarch left both younger ladies blushing furiously in her wake, effectively ending the conversation.

Before retiring to bed at an unusually late hour, Mary had located her father sitting alone in his small private section of the library, nursing a glass of brandy.

"Papa," she greeted him softly.

"Mary, my dear," he answered, giving her a welcoming smile. "Come sit beside me a moment."

Mary did as instructed, seating herself primly on the sofa beside her father.

"Matthew tells me you insisted on the two of you marrying as soon as the bans can be read. Is that so?" Robert asked, once again amused by the imperious manner in which his daughter was handling his young cousin, as well as by the love-struck manner in which Matthew seemed to hang on her every word. They made quite a pair.

"Yes, Papa. I saw no reason to wait. The truth is...he's been taken from me so many times, that I fear delaying any longer, lest something else happen to separate us again. I must snatch happiness from the hand of fate while it is still within my reach."

"Your mother is very displeased with you."

"I know. Believe me, I know. She made sure I wasn't mistaken in that regard," Mary responded bitterly.

"You know she loves you and wants what she thinks is best for you."

"Do you agree with her?" Mary asked, large brown eyes boring into her fathers beseechingly.

"No," Robert answered with a fond smile. "It does pain me to think of you, my eldest daughter, never having any children of your own. But...Matthew is still a wonderful match for you. If the two of you love each other, and wish to be together, despite the challenges you will face, I see no reason why we should stand in your way. It is also true that marriage will allow you to remain in society here, and not have to go so far away from your home and your family. I told your mother as much."

"Thank you, Papa. I'm so glad you're on our side," Mary responded sincerely.

"I'm happy for you, Mary. Matthew will make a fine husband, as well as a fine son-in-law."

Mary smiled knowingly at her father's comment. "I knew you would be pleased about that. At one time, I would have been terribly jealous."

Robert chuckled at the memory of Mary's fierce dislike of Matthew in the early days of their acquaintance. So much had changed, in seemed almost as though those events had taken place in another lifetime.

"It's amazing how much love can change one's perspective on things," he observed quietly.

"Indeed," Mary agreed, becoming momentarily lost in her memories.

As she lay in bed, hoping for sleep to find her, she thought about love, and all the change it had wrought in her life. Loving Matthew had changed _her_, deeply and absolutely. He had broken down her barriers brick by brick, destroying the stony defenses she had carefully erected around her heart. She had never _felt_ so strongly before her feelings for Matthew had rocked her world - both the passionate resentment and the passionate love. Yes, Matthew had changed her; and she wouldn't change a thing.

* * *

Robert sat up late into the night mulling over the events of the day. He was beyond pleased about the match between Matthew and Mary. Mary looked at her new fiance as if he had hung the moon. Her happiness in her chosen future was evident. If only he could be so sure of Matthew's contentment, his own happiness might be complete.

After the ladies had exited the dining room, Robert had poured two glasses of brandy for himself and his young cousin, who looked to be in severe need of the fortification.

"Robert, am I doing the right thing?" Matthew had asked as soon as Robert had regained his seat. "I...care _so_ deeply for Mary. In this past month, she has far exceeded my expectations. She is...capable, and caring, and..._incredible_. I want to give her everything, _everything_ she deserves. But I _can't_. How am I to cope with that for the rest of my life?"

Robert was struck momentarily speechless by his cousin's impassioned statements, as well as the loaded question that still hung in the air like a lingering fog. There certainly was no easy answer to any of the questions that had plagued the unfortunate young man since his tragic injury. Robert wasn't sure there ever would be.

"Matthew, I wish I had an answer to offer you. All I can say is that I know my daughter. Mary knows her own mind. If she says that this is what she wants, what she believes will make her happy, then I have every confidence that she's right."

"It isn't even only Mary's happiness that worries me," Matthew continued. "I fear for my own sanity. To have to see her every day, and know that I will never be able to make love to her...I can only hope that the pain will diminish with time."

"The two of you will find your way," Robert tried to encourage him. "One never really knows what the future will hold."

"Well, we do know what it does _not_ hold, and that is what concerns me at the moment," Matthew shot back bitterly. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, fighting off the meltdown that threatened his composure.

"Like I said," Robert tried again, "you two will find your way. You must have faith, my boy. All will be well. Once you and Mary...erh...become closer and more...comfortable...with one another, I'm sure that you'll figure out a way to...compensate."

There was a long, awkward silence during which both men stared blindly into their drinks.

"Damn it, Matthew, I didn't put that well at all, I'm afraid. You did take my meaning, did you not?" Robert asked.

"Yes," Matthew responded woodenly, not at all convinced that he _had_ taken Robert's meaning.

Sensing the need for an expedient change of subject, Robert asked Matthew the first thing that came to mind.

"So, when is this wedding to take place?"

"Mary insists that we marry as soon as the bans can be read. Three weeks," Matthew answered. He was surprised to find his mood lift a bit simply by feeling Mary's name roll off his tongue.

"Excellent," Robert responded, relieved by the slight lightening in Matthew's mood. "I'll see to the publication of the bans tomorrow, first thing. Then I will make arrangements for the announcement in the newspapers. Tomorrow you and Mary can decide on the exact date, and we'll book the church. You do want to be married in the church, do you not?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine," Matthew answered. "Robert, would you mind terribly if I retire early tonight? The truth is, I don't feel very well."

"Certainly, Matthew. I'll ring for Bates."

"Thank you."

After that, Matthew had been taken to his room and readied for bed by Bates' capable hands. Once in bed, he had requested a sleeping draught, not so much for the pain in his hand, as for the pain in his heart. He could only hope, however uselessly, that he would, one day, grow numb to the pain and humiliation that had become his daily portion. And, he hoped that he could, somehow, make Mary happy. If he could just do that then, maybe, he could find some measure of satisfaction and purpose in what was left of his life.

* * *

Unable to sleep, Mary rose from her bed to check briefly on Matthew, though she knew him to be deep in a drug-induced slumber. Once she was by his side, she leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his parted lips, pausing a moment to admire his relaxed face, so handsome and boyish in repose.

"I'll make you happy again, Matthew," she whispered softly to his unconscious form. "Whatever it takes, I _will _make you happy again. I love you so much, my darling."

Feeling the urge to call upon a higher power for the second time that day, Mary knelt beside Matthew's bed and clasped his good hand in both of her own.

"Dear Lord, I'm sorry to bother you again, but Matthew needs your help. I don't understand what happened to him today, but...if you do, and you can fix it...Please, just help him. And help me...to know what it is I need to do...so that Matthew might be happy again. Amen."

With a final squeeze of Matthew's hand, Mary rose to return to bed.

* * *

**A/N2: **I absolutely loved the idea that Mary put aside her own personal doubts to pray for Matthew in the show. You can expect to see her praying for him every so often throughout this story. Also, expect a slight increase in angst in the coming chapters. There will be bright spots, as always, but just to warn you. Thanks so much for reading, everyone!


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17_

It was entirely too quiet, unnaturally so. Clutching his Webley in one hand, Matthew crawled low to the ground, trying uselessly to remain silent as he moved over the noiseless maze of stinking trench. The pungent aroma of mud, gunpowder, and fresh blood filled his nostrils, turning his stomach. There had been a time when he was used to the stench of trench warfare, but time away had made him soft, it seemed.

It was just so _quiet._ Why was it so quiet? And why wasn't there anybody around? Where was William? William was almost always by his side. He should be there...somewhere.

At last, Matthew reached a ladder and began to climb. His fingers trembled as he gripped the dirty rungs, hoisting himself slowly towards the top. When he reached the edge of the trench he sucked in a deep breath and peeked over the edge.

What he beheld stunned and sickened him. The field before him was strewn with thousands of mangled and bloodied bodies, some destroyed beyond recognition. But worst of all were the ones who were all too recognizable. Only a few yards from where Matthew stood, gaping and trembling with fear and loss, lay William, his face ashen and eyes wide and vacant. He was able to recognize Thomas' dark head not far away, and...

"No," Matthew groaned quietly, unable to believe what his eyes were showing him.

It was Robert, his fine dinner suit stained with fresh blood, arms and legs twisted into strange, unnatural angles. His eyes moved past Robert's body, further out onto the macabre field. He began to tremble with horror at the sight he found. Lady Grantham lay beside her husband with her two younger daughters not far away. Then there was his Cousin Violet, her silvered hair streaked and caked with congealing blood. Lavinia was also there, her delicate face caked with mud. His heart began to speed wildly as he beheld his mother's palled face, and his...his fathers! He hadn't seen his father in years, and it frightened him to see how very much like himself his deceased father appeared.

A slight movement caught his eye. Amidst the stillness, death, and horror stood an angelic vision, wreathed in light.

_Mary._

He whispered her name to himself like a mantra, as if her name alone would cleanse this God-forsaken place of all its filth and rot and _death_. She was so beautiful. Her eyes burned into him as she stood motionless, tendrils of her chestnut hair blowing gently around her etherial face. The red silk of her gown clung to each delicate line and curve of her sweet form almost as if the material were... wet.

Panic shot through his body as he realized that Mary wasn't wearing a red dress. Her gown was soaked through with... with blood.

"No," he whispered brokenly. "_Mary."_

As his eyes returned to her perfect face, tears of scarlet blood began to fall from her eyes, trailing down over her alabaster cheeks to trace the shape of her doll-like lips. His eyes followed the droplets down her long neck, over the dips of her collarbones, until they disappeared into the neckline of her sodden gown.

"No," he breathed, wanting to scream, to cry, to yell his pain and loss to the world; but he had no breath in his lungs with which to produce any sound.

"Matthew, help me!" Mary called to him, reaching a red-gloved hand in his direction.

"I'm coming, Mary," he tried desperately to call back to her, but his voice still refused to do his bidding.

Matthew tried, frantically, to hoist himself over the top. He had to go to Mary! He had to! But, to his dismay, his legs wouldn't move at all. He was forced to stand, powerless and helpless, as time slowed down before his eyes and he beheld the grey outline of a grenade flying through the air, heading straight for...

"Mary!" he mouthed, his throat straining to cry out to her, to warn her. "_No!" _

His senses failed him. He couldn't hear the blast. He couldn't see Mary. His lower half had no feeling. But he could feel the cold hand that closed around his wrist. Acting on instinct, he turned towards his attacker, the natural urge to fight and to survive overcoming the crushing weight of grief and loss.

* * *

Mary rose and dressed at the usual hour before making her way downstairs to wake Matthew. She wasn't sure how he would feel about joining the other officers at breakfast after the alarming events of the previous morning, but she hoped he wouldn't let it drag his spirits down. While it might prove dangerous for his composure to repeat the events that led up to his horrible episode, it was equally dangerous to allow him to languish in his room all day, meditating on what it was that kept him there. Encouragement would be the name of the game that morning. She would have to encourage him to go about his day as they always had, leaving the events of the past behind them and moving forward with their new lives.

When she reached his door, Mary slipped inside without hesitation, pushing it closed behind her. In the pale light of the morning sun, she could see Matthew's reclined form on the bed. He slept still.

His face was turned away from her, but she could tell it was twisted into a tight grimace. His hands and shoulders twitched slightly, as though his sleep where troubled. Realizing that her poor darling must be having one of those horrible nightmares he had spoken of before, she approached the bed, wishing to wake him gently, to free him from his grisly dream world by waking him with tender kisses.

"Matthew," she spoke softly as she leaned towards him, placing her hand lightly on his wrist.

Mary was forced to jump back, a strangled cry wrenching from her lips, as Matthew suddenly turned towards her. His hand came around her wrist, twisting and bruising it painfully. Fortunately for Mary, she had approached on the side of his injured left hand, or he could have broken her slight wrist with sadly little effort.

Her stunned cry, and the accompanying stabbing pain in his hand, jolted Matthew into consciousness. He pushed himself up into a sitting position with his right hand, still too stunned to realize what had happened. One moment he had been looking at a field of broken bodies, and the next he was in bed, and..._oh, God!_

Mary was so shocked by his unexpected reaction that she had backed up into the corner of the room, clutching her aching wrist against her chest. What had happened to her kind, gentle Matthew? His eyes were wild as he glanced about the room. For a moment, he was the Matthew from the day before, the stranger Matthew. She didn't know him. _Her_ Matthew would never, never hurt her! She knew he wouldn't.

She held her breath until his eyes came to rest on her and instantly softened. He was _her_ Matthew again.

"Dear God, Mary. I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?" he asked brokenly, reaching his good hand in her direction.

Still paralyzed with shock, Mary only stood staring in his direction.

"Please, don't be afraid of me, Mary," he pled. Her heart broke to see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am."

Forcing her legs to obey her commands, Mary moved slowly to his side and allowed him to carefully take her hurt wrist in his hand. He raised it to his lips for several tender kisses, as if he could make the harm he had done disappear with loving attentions. He closed his eyes tightly, allowing several tears to overflow their confines and roll down his cheeks.

Seeing his distress, Mary tried to lean closer to him, to pull him into her embrace, but Matthew wouldn't allow it. He gently, but firmly, pushed her away from him, his face hard and stern.

"Mary, how can you want to marry me?" he began brokenly. "I'm no good for you. I'm broken, inside and out. Surely there must be a better way to save your reputation. Perhaps the entail can yet be broken. You can have Downton without tying yourself to the likes of me for the rest of your life. God, Mary, I...I _hate_ myself for hurting you."

The pain reflected in his steely eyes was heart-wrenching, as was the grimace of self-loathing that marred his handsome visage. Panic welled up inside Mary at his suggestion that they break the engagement. She couldn't allow him to continue. She simply couldn't.

"It's fine, Matthew. See?" She held up her wrist before him, moving her hand in a tight circle to show him the perfect, normal function of her wrist. While this reassured him somewhat, he was far from completely convinced.

"This time you were lucky. Next time I may truly injure you."

"Well, I'll just...prod you with a broom handle the next time I want to wake you," Mary replied saucily, trying desperately to inject some humor into the tense situation. "No harm done, Matthew. Really. I should have known better. I startled you."

"You're too gracious, my dear," Matthew responded, his voice pained. "But how can I possibly allow you to tie yourself to me? You deserve bet..."

"What I deserve," Mary interrupted hotly, desperate to put an end to all talk of ending their understanding, "is to be able to show my face in town again! Do you not agree?"

Seeing that her outburst had quieted him, Mary continued, gesturing broadly with her hands to emphasize her point.

"I'm so...sick of being hidden away here! I need you to help me, Matthew! I need you! Don't you see? You're my dearest friend, and I...I need you. No matter what state you may be in."

Matthew shook his head sadly, his heart rending with pain at the thought of letting her go. It would always be painful - being with her, but not _being_ with her. But it would also be wonderful. Seeing her, holding her, kissing her...just spending time with her. It would all be so, so wonderful. Without her he would be so desperately lonely. Mary may not be in love with him, but she made him feel valued and cared for, even if only on a friendly level. Her kisses, however, suggested at least some level of deeper affection.

It was just as well that she wasn't in love with him. He knew himself to be hopelessly in love with her, and the knowledge that he wasn't enough for her, that he would never be able to be one with her, was overwhelmingly painful. He could never subject her to the same pain, or himself to the added humiliation. Fortunately, she was asking him for his help with more practical concerns. He _could_ assist in repairing her reputation. He _could_ offer her protection, and a home of her own. He _could_ offer her a permanent place in the world she had grown up in, and the respectability and notoriety she deserved. Above all, he could offer her steadfast friendship and a dedicated parter for life. It was nice to feel that he would be of some use to somebody, especially one so dear to him.

All will to fight leaving his body, Matthew reached for Mary, drawing her into his embrace. They held each other for several long moments before Mary drew back.

"Matthew, will you come to breakfast with me?" she asked tentatively.

"Do you think that's wise. What if I..."

"Well, we can't keep you cooped up in here forever, now can we?" Mary interrupted him. "Besides, there may be Germans lurking in the dark corners of the dining room. I'll need my fearless protector by my side."

Despite himself, Matthew laughed heartily at her little joke, still wiping escaped tears from the corners of his eyes. He supposed it wasn't really all that funny, but he was feeling just a bit delirious after the emotionally-charged morning.

Mary rang for Bates' help getting Matthew out of bed and dressed in his uniform, ready to meet the day head on.

On their way to the dining room, Mary and Matthew were approached by a group of four or five officers. Mary recognized them as having been in the dining room at the time of Matthew's meltdown the previous morning. She stopped pushing him and moved to stand by his side so she could see his face, watching his reaction for any sign of a repeat performance. Matthew showed no sign of distress, much to her relief, so she allowed the soldiers to approach.

"Good morning, Captain Crawley, Lady Mary," the young man in front greeted them pleasantly. All four gentlemen saluted the superior officer in a show of deference and respect.

"At ease, gentlemen," Matthew instructed them kindly, assuming the role of commanding officer with natural ease. Mary felt very proud, seeing him as the dignified, responsible leader he had grown to be in the years he was at war. It seemed that every new day showed her something new to love about him.

"Sir, we just wanted to apologize for our interference yesterday. We were only trying to help, but we fear we may have done the opposite. How's your hand?" the unofficial leader of the small band of soldiers asked humbly.

"It's fine. No need to worry yourselves," Matthew answered kindly. "I appreciate your concern."

"Don't feel badly 'bout what 'appened, Cap'n," a young man with a smattering of freckles across his flushed face chimed in. "We all 'ave moments when we blink an' suddenly find ourselves back in France."

Touched by their concern, Matthew thanked his fellow officers for their consideration, and returned their parting salute.

"That was kind of them," Mary observed as they continued on their way to breakfast.

"Yes, it was very kind," Matthew agreed, turning in his chair to smile serenely up at her.

"What?" Mary asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Nothing. Just...I feel... _happy_ this morning, Mary. It's nice for a change."

Smiling delightedly, Mary leaned down to kiss his dimpled cheek before continuing.

After breakfast, Mary and Matthew went together to meet with Robert in his study, wedding arrangements being the business of the day.

By the end of the morning, the bans had been set to be read both in the local church and in Matthew's home town of Manchester beginning the very next day, which was Sunday. The date had been set for Monday morning three weeks hence, and the church booked. Robert had written to a colleague of his who had connections with a London newspaper to make arrangements for a feature, complete with a photograph, to be run in the next week's paper about Mary and Matthew's engagement.

"The wounded war hero finding happiness upon his triumphant return home is a romantic enough tale that the ladies should gobble it up," Robert had explained. "I thought that, if we are to counter the damage done by the gossip column feature, we'll have to do something bigger.

Matthew was trepedatious about having his picture in the newspaper, but if Mary was next to him, perhaps it would be alright.

"Now, I'll leave the remainder of the preparations to my wife," Robert said. At Mary's look of alarm, he clarified, "despite her initial attitude, Cora prattled on and on last night about how she was to have a wedding planned in three weeks. Flowers, and dresses, and guests, and food, and on and on and on. She seems to have accepted the situation, at least somewhat. I don't believe she'll give you any more trouble, Mary."

"Thank you, Papa," Mary said gratefully, as she rose to wheel Matthew outside for their late-morning outing.

Once Mary was seated beside him on her bench, Matthew reached for her hand, stroking his thumb over the backs of her fingers, his brows knitted together in thought.

"What is it?" Mary asked, noting his pensive mien.

"It's just...Lavinia...I," he began haltingly, glancing in Mary's direction to see how she would handle the mention of his former fiance. Her face was carefully impassive. "Well, I hate to think of her learning of our engagement from that blasted article, that's all. At least our engagement - Lavinia's and mine, I mean - was never officially announced, so she won't suffer too much humiliation."

"I'll write to her, if you'd like," Mary offered gently, pushing her instinctual jealousy at hearing Lavinia's name on Matthew's lips to the dark corners of her mind. "If I post the letter tomorrow morning, she'll receive it before the article is published. I'll explain everything to her, as gently as possible."

"You would really do that, Mary?" Matthew asked, finding that he adored her more with each passing hour.

"Of course. Lavinia is someone who was...is...very special to you. I understand that."

"I'm very glad you suggested it," Matthew continued, his face brightening into a cheerful smile again. "It wouldn't be proper for me to write to her myself, now that we are no longer attached. I will, however, write to her father. I just... don't want there to be any misunderstanding of the circumstances."

"Quite right," Mary agreed, fighting against the sudden depression that threatened her composure. What if Matthew was still in love with Lavinia? Surely he would have mentioned her if he was, but...what if he was? Oh, how Mary wished that he had agreed to marry her because he loved her, rather than because he felt it his duty to save her damned reputation and provide her with a home. She was glad to have him, on any terms, but sometimes it still smarted.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, it took Mary a few moments to register Matthew's insistent tugging on her hand. She looked up at his smiling face, and immediately her dismal thoughts melted away into pure joy. No matter how the end had been achieved, he was hers, and she would always be grateful that fate had granted her a second chance.

Mary obligingly allowed Matthew to pull her over onto his lap. She looped her arms around his shoulders as his encircled her waist. For a moment, they merely stared smilingly into each other's eyes. Then Matthew lifted his unbandaged hand to briefly caress her soft cheek before reaching around to cup the back of her neck, pulling her close for a kiss.

Framing his face in both her hands, Mary eagerly returned his kiss, opening her mouth against his, feeling their breaths mingle. For several minutes, they relished the sweet closeness of their position, gradually allowing the kiss to grow in intimacy as they lost themselves in each other. Mary gasped and sighed as Matthew sucked her lower lip into his mouth, then traced his tongue over her teeth and the outline of her lips. She very much liked Matthew in a good mood. His hands were pulling her closer to his strong form, and she eagerly angled her body towards him as much as she could with the impediment of her skirts and the arms of his wheelchair.

Lost in their blissful communion as they were, neither Mary nor Matthew was aware that they were being observed.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about the long wait between updates, everyone! I already mentioned this in my last Love and the Need for Excitement post, but I just accepted an offer on my house and put in an offer on a condo. Things are going to be crazy for a few weeks while we get everything settled, so updates will be a bit less frequent than they have been. Not too terrible though. I'll still shoot for once a week, at least.

Sorry about the cliffy! Who could be watching them, I wonder? Hmm...

Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait, everyone! I had a bit of difficulty with this chapter. I'm not 100% happy with the result, but I'm probably just being obsessive. I do have one little thing I wanted to make note of first.

I don't think that Matthew would conclude that Mary is in love with him from her kisses and other physical affection. Remember, she kissed him before he first proposed and, probably, between his proposal and withdrawal. In his mind, if she could have kissed him and not loved him enough then, then she could kiss him and still not be in love with him now. Plus, he now knows she slept with another man without loving him. I really don't think any of that will clue him in. That's just my humble opinion.

Ok. Enough of my rambling. Time for the chapter!

**Last time:**

F_raming his face in both her hands, Mary eagerly returned his kiss, opening her mouth against his, feeling their breaths mingle. For several minutes, they relished the sweet closeness of their position, gradually allowing the kiss to grow in intimacy as they lost themselves in each other. Mary gasped and sighed as Matthew sucked her lower lip into his mouth, then traced his tongue over her teeth and the outline of her lips. She very much liked Matthew in a good mood. His hands were pulling her closer to his strong form, and she eagerly angled her body towards him as much as she could with the impediment of her skirts and the arms of his wheelchair._

_Lost in their blissful communion as they were, neither Mary nor Matthew was aware that they were being observed._

* * *

_Chapter 18_

A note form the Countess of Grantham was one of the last things Lavinia had expected to receive in her morning post. She had scarcely spoken to the elegant lady on her previous visits to the Abbey, and had to wonder at the purpose behind it all. While she was sure the Countess was being very kind and condescending to invite her to be a guest at Downton Abbey, she had to wonder at the true motive behind the invitation. Had Matthew mentioned that he might miss her? or that he regretted his decision to send her away? Could he be ill, or unwell somehow? No, surely if he were unwell, the Countess would have mentioned that in her note. As it was, she scarcely mentioned Matthew at all.

The thought of seeing Matthew again filled Lavinia's heart with both pain and hope. Perhaps he really had missed her. If so, she would be glad to go to him, to be with him again. Though she had recently started seeing someone else, she found herself forever comparing him to Matthew. All other men just seemed to fall short, somehow.

She packed her belongings quickly, informing her father that she would be on the nine o'clock train to Downton the next morning. She sent off a quick note, by express post, to Lady Grantham to inform her that her invitation was being accepted and asking her to send the car to meet her at the station the next afternoon.

Upon her arrival at Downton Abbey, Lavinia had received an additional surprise in the warm, almost exuberant, reception she received from the Countess. She thought it strange, but her kind nature wouldn't allow her to return the greeting with any less warmth. The butler immediately appeared to take her hat and traveling coat, as well as her luggage, which was to be brought up to a guest room on the second floor. When asked if she would like to refresh herself from her journey, Lavinia answered that she would, but not until after she had seen Matthew.

Pleased by Lavinia's apparent anxiousness to see her former fiance, Cora had immediately pointed the girl in the direction she knew Mary to have taken him in. Lavinia immediately started in their direction, smiling and eager to see how Matthew was doing. Apparently, he was much better if he was able to spend significant time out of doors.

As she approached, she could see the back of Matthew's wheelchair and the back of Mary's dark head seated beside him on the bench. She could tell by the way their heads were turned that they were speaking to each other. As she got closer, she could see that they were holding hands between them. Shaking off her initial pang of worry at the sight, Lavinia reminded herself that they were family and very good friends, after all. Surely there was nothing very alarming or unusual about them holding hands. Then she had been stopped in her tracks in shock when Matthew pulled his beautiful cousin into his lap. That was certainly something she had never expected. What came next was even more shocking. They were kissing. Not simply kissing, but...kissing more passionately than she had ever seen two people kiss before. Matthew had certainly never kissed her in such a manner.

Lavinia was stunned, and terribly confused. She was certain that Matthew had told her he couldn't...that he was... But the scene before her spoke of a very passionate longing. The two people before her were clearly lovers. What other explanation could there possibly be? While she was quite stunned, Lavinia realized that she wasn't as surprised as she ought to have been. She had suspected some romantic connection, or at least interest, between the two of them before, but now it was unequivocally confirmed. She could feel her face getting hot as Mary playfully tipped Matthew's cap off his head, letting it drift to the ground behind him, as she leaned over him to deepen the kiss, her long fingers lacing through his hair. She could hear Mary's soft giggling and Matthew's answering chuckle as his hand wrapped around her ankle where it lay across the arm of his wheelchair.

Lavinia knew it was wrong to watch them without announcing her presence. She wanted to go back, to leave without anyone ever knowing she had seen them together, but she doubted she would be so lucky as to sneak away completely unnoticed. She took a steadying breath, gathered her courage, and said:

"Hello."

* * *

Mary was reveling in Matthew's tender attentions. They reminded her very much of the way he had kissed and held her all those years ago when he was still hopeful of a positive answer to his proposal. Only then, he had seated himself on the bench and pulled her into his lap, leaning her back so that she was almost reclined on the bench and kissing down her neck and exposed collar bones before lifting her back against him to claim her lips.

It all felt so natural, so right. Matthew smiled impishly up at her between kisses, and she sweetly kissed and tongued his dimples, receiving playful nips and a gentle tickling of her ribs in return.

Feeling that his cap was in her way, Mary tipped it off his head so that she could run her fingers through his thick, soft hair. He sighed appreciatively at the feeling, and rewarded her by gently caressing the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs, causing her to giggle a bit nervously as his attentions became bolder. She shut her eyes tightly and poured all her focus into their kiss as his right hand traveled the length of her body to, eventually, wrap around one of her silk-clad ankles. His hand felt so warm, separated from her skin by only the thin silk of her stocking. What would it feel like to have his hands on her bare skin? Everywhere? A delicious shiver ran through her at the thought, and she felt her face flush with excitement. She had every expectation of his hand retracing the path it had previously taken, but underneath her skirt this time, when a quiet voice suddenly jolted them from their trancelike state.

Mary gasped and scrambled out of Matthew's hold, standing on unsteady feet and smoothing her skirts as she looked straight into the wide eyes of Matthew's former intended. She could only bear to hold Lavinia's gaze for a few seconds before she was forced to avert her eyes, so intense was her embarrassment and shock. Her hand rose automatically to the back of her neck in an attempt to sooth the hot needle-like prickling she felt there. Panic followed in shock's wake. What was Lavinia doing there? She knew it was irrational, but she feared losing Matthew. After all, she always lost him. Dear God, it would kill her to lose him again!

She glanced down at Matthew to see him scrubbing his reddened face with his hands. His breathing was steady and deliberate, as though he were trying to ward off an attack of hyperventilation. Her protective instincts towards Matthew overriding her own fears and misgivings, Mary took it upon herself to address Lavinia.

"I'm so sorry, Lavinia. We didn't...I didn't...see you there."

Lavinia nodded, but said nothing in return. What was there to say? A thousand questions were spinning about inside her head, and she hadn't the slightest idea which to ask first.

Needing something to do, Mary collected Matthew's cap and dusted a few blades of grass from it before placing it back on his head.

"Mary, could you turn me around, please?" Matthew asked, his voice slightly unsteady.

Mary did as he bid, turning his chair so that he faced Lavinia. She mentally kicked herself for not thinking of that sooner.

Something inside Lavinia broke when his lovely face came into her view. All his terrible cuts had healed, leaving him as handsome as he had always been. His lips were still swollen and red from Mary's kisses, his eyes bright. Tears filled her vision, obscuring that which she so longed to savor. She knew this would truly be the last time she saw him. It was more than clear that he belonged to another now. Perhaps, in his heart, he had belonged to Mary all along. One some level, she had always known it. Deep down, she knew this was part of the reason she had left Matthew without a fight. Since the day she first saw Matthew and Mary interact at that concert, Lavinia had known Matthew had never truly been hers to lose. She quickly rubbed the tears from her eyes, forcing herself to remain composed.

"Forgive me for coming upon you so suddenly," she spoke, desperately trying to infuse her voice with strength and resolve she didn't truly feel equal to. "I..."

"Lavinia, I'm..." Matthew began haltingly. "I'm so sorry you had to see that. It isn't...there are things that you should know. Things I would like to explain to you, if you'll sit down."

"Are you..." Lavinia began, unsure of exactly what it was she wanted to ask. Her gaze darted to Mary's somber face then back to Matthew's again.

"Mary and I are engaged to be married, yes," Matthew answered her unspoken question. "But it isn't...it's different. There are...practical reasons..."

"What Matthew's trying to say is that I asked him to marry me to help me secure my future. You've heard, I'm sure, about my recent disgrace. Perhaps you saw the notice in the gossip column yourself," Mary cut in.

"Yes," Lavinia acknowledged, "but I never believed a word of it."

"Thank you for that," Mary nodded gratefully, amazed by Lavinia's graciousness towards her even after all that she had witnessed. "Whether or not what was printed about me is the truth, my reputation is in shambles because of it. Matthew has kindly agreed to marry me so that I will always have a home and a future here at Downton. Marriage will also help repair my reputation."

There was a short pause in which Lavinia's brows knitted together in contemplation. She could certainly understand the practical reasons for their union, but that didn't quite explain what she had seen when she had come so unexpectedly upon their secret embrace. There were deeper feelings, feelings of ardent love and devotion, between them as well. She had sensed it before, and she saw it even more obviously now. Perhaps Mary was only trying to spare her feelings by focusing on the practical.

Seeing the other woman's confusion, Mary continued,

"Matthew and I have always been close...except for when we...weren't." Mary paused momentarily, mentally berating herself for her inability to explain herself coherently and without stammering. "If friendship isn't a good basis for a marriage, I don't know what is. I have every confidence that we shall both be quite... content in our union. We both need each other. Matthew will always need someone to care for him, and I am more than happy to be that for him, though I know he will be doing me the greater service."

Matthew, who had, thus far, remained silently staring at the grass at Lavinia's feet, suddenly spoke up, asking if they could adjourn to the private library for tea. Lavinia nodded and expressed a desire to refresh herself first, promising to meet them in a quarter hour. She then turned and walked briskly ahead of them back towards the house. Mary tried to keep pace with her, but Matthew was heavy, so her pace was slow in comparison.

Upon entering the house, Lavinia immediately asked to be shown to her room to freshen up, and Mary wheeled Matthew into the library. She rang for tea to be served in a quarter hour, then took a seat across from Matthew.

Matthew looked at her askance.

"What?" Mary asked, unsure about the significance of his look.

"Why are you all the way over there?" he asked, patting the cushion of the chair beside him.

"I just thought...Lavinia..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mary," Matthew began, his voice becoming dangerously unsteady. "_You_ are my fiance now. I need your support to wade through this waking nightmare."

Mary quickly rose and crossed the space between them to sit in the chair he indicated. He immediately reached for her hand. Mary clasped his hand in both of hers, trying to give him comfort, as he was obviously distressed inside. She feared for his composure after it was all over and he was left alone with his thoughts. If she could possibly help it he wouldn't be left alone with his thoughts, even if she had to squeeze into that tiny bed with him again. Matthew had been through enough without having to feel like he had wounded someone dear to him. She felt for him, and she felt for Lavinia. If roles had been reversed and it had been she, rather than Lavinia, to discover Matthew with another woman in such a way...

Before she could even complete that depressing thought, Lavinia reappeared, her face flushed from the cold water she had splashed on it to hide the evidence of the tears she had shed as soon as the door had closed behind her. She seated herself gracefully in the place Mary had vacated to go to Matthew's side. Lavinia's eyes were then drawn, inevitably, to Mary and Matthew's joined hands. Mary started to pull hers away, but Matthew wouldn't allow it. After all, it was hardly the most shocking or hurtful thing Lavinia had witnessed that afternoon.

"I don't have much time," Lavinia began after a moment of tense silence. "I would like to catch the afternoon train back to London."

"There really is no need for such haste, Lavinia," Mary protested politely. "You're welcome to stay the night and leave tomorrow morning, if you wish."

"I thank you for your generosity, but I'm afraid I just can't accept. I fear I've been brought here for...for reasons...I'm not sure I approve of."

Seeing Mary and Matthew's confused looks, Lavinia continued,

"Forgive my impertinence, but I take it Lady Grantham does not approve of your...relationship."

Mary sighed deeply as Lavinia's meaning sunk in.

"Oh, no. My mother invited you, didn't she?"

Lavinia nodded, and Mary looked over at Matthew, who was wearing an angry scowl. His grip on her hand became almost bruising. Doing some quick figuring in her head, Mary deduced that her mother must have invited Lavinia the day before they announced their engagement. She must have sensed that something was up, and decided to take preemptive action. Unfortunately for Cora, and fortunately for Mary, it appeared that the plan wasn't going to serve its intended purpose. Lavinia was already leaving, and Matthew seemed firm in his resolve to keep his promise.

Carson arrived with the tea tray, putting an end to conversation for several minutes while the three companions nibbled silently on biscuits and sipped their tea. After several tense minutes, Matthew sat his tea cup decisively on the table in front of him before speaking.

"Mary, I wonder if you might give Lavinia and me a few minutes alone."

"Of course," Mary answered with a nod, though her heart panged at the thought of possibly losing Matthew, of leaving him alone with a woman that, for all she knew, he may still be in love with - and one who was certainly still in love with him.

Seeing her discomposure - well-hidden but from those who knew her best - Matthew gave Mary's hand a reassuring squeeze as she rose from her seat and exited the room. His eyes followed her graceful gait as she went, a fact which did not escape Lavinia's notice.

"I always knew there was something between the two of you, almost from the first moment I saw you speak to each other at the concert. It seems like so long ago now," Lavinia mused wistfully as soon as they were alone.

When Matthew, who was struggling to collect his thoughts, remained silent, Lavinia continued.

"I take it that...the doctor wasn't entirely correct about your condition. That you...that you and Mary...are..."

Matthew's head snapped up as her meaning dawned on him.

"No, I'm afraid the doctor was not mistaken in that regard."

Lavinia was, admittedly, confused. In light of what she had witnessed earlier, she found it terribly hard to believe. Had it not been Matthew himself who initiated the intimacy she had born witness to out on the lawn? Why would he have wanted to kiss Mary in such a manner if all desire for...for _that_ was gone?

Seeing the confusion written on her delicate countenance, he sought to explain himself more fully.

"Lavinia, I'm afraid I've never been honest with you about...about Mary and I. About my...our...past."

Bracing herself for the, undoubtedly, difficult revelations to come, Lavinia nodded her encouragement for him to continue. Her eyes rested on his left hand, on the bandages wrapped tightly around the last two fingers. She wanted to ask him what had happened, but wasn't sure she had any right to ask.

"Just before the war broke out, only about six months before we met, I proposed to Mary. I...I was in love with her," Matthew began. "She didn't exactly refuse me, but she hesitated to accept for so long that I, bitter, hurt, and foolish, withdrew my proposal and, for all intents and purposes, ran away from...well, from everything. I never stopped loving her. I once thought I had, but..."

"You were in love with her when we were engaged," Lavinia asserted. It wasn't a question. She had seen it, known it, to be true, even when she was too blinded by infatuation to accept it. What she had with Matthew could never have been real love. It had been a passing whim, a dalliance, nothing more. As much as it hurt to admit it, she knew that accepting that truth would be the first step towards mending the gaping hole that his dismissal had opened up in her heart.

"I wasn't lying when I said I loved you, Lavinia," Matthew continued, his voice soft and filled with sadness and regret.

"You didn't think you were. I understand," she responded resignedly.

"At any rate, my current engagement to Mary was formed for practical reasons. Mary needs my help, and she has been just so...I can't even find the words to describe to you how simply wonderful Mary has been to me since my injury. I couldn't ask for a better nurse, friend, and companion than Mary has been. My greatest desire now is to give her all that I still can. She has...she makes me feel like a man again, sometimes. She makes me feel like...like I can still be worth something to somebody."

"Then I'm happy for you," Lavinia spoke after a moment's pause. "She clearly loves you very much."

Matthew's smile was wistful and serene.

"I like to believe that she has come to love me, in a way. She tells me I am her dearest and best friend in the world. I think that she always felt familial love for me, just not romantic love. That's why she couldn't answer my proposal, all those years ago. She may love me, but she has never been _in love_ with me. Now, I suppose, that's all for the best."

Lavinia looked skeptical, but said nothing more. Matthew was clearly deceiving himself if he thought Mary would allow him to kiss and hold her as familiarly as he had if she hadn't been in love with him. Besides, Lavinia had observed Matthew's beautiful cousin with almost manic curiosity from the first moment of making her acquaintance, and had seen all the unmistakable signs of a woman in love. Whatever had caused Mary to feel like she couldn't accept Matthew's proposal before the war clearly had nothing to do with a lack of any proper feeling on her part.

"So what about you?" Matthew spoke up again. "Has there been...is there...anyone special for you now?"

Forcing her conflicting emotions aside, Lavinia straightened in her seat, holding her head high as she answered his question with complete honesty.

"I have been seeing someone for about a month now, though I wouldn't say it's been serious. He's a doctor. He recently returned from France, and is now working in the London hospital for wounded soldiers."

Matthew nodded, though he appeared somewhat absentminded, and told Lavinia that he was happy to hear that she had been seeing someone. The truth was, he truly _was_ happy that she had moved on with her life. That was what he had wanted, wasn't it? He looked at Lavinia and saw her delicate beauty, her sweet spirit, and graceful form, and recalled how pleased he once was to have secured her hand. Oh, how things had changed since then! Matthew wasn't made to be alone. He needed love and companionship, and, when Mary had denied him, he had found it with Lavinia. And he had loved her. On some level, he still did. But Mary was the true keeper of his heart, and it was with her that his future lay.

* * *

**A/N2: **I know that this chapter ends with some questions still unanswered and some rabbit trails yet unfollowed, but you can think of it as a two part chapter if you want. The next one will tie up Lavinia's visit and all loose ends regarding it. Mary still has to confront her mother. Or will Matthew do it? Hmm... *strokes chin contemplatively*

Thanks for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **I will apologize in advance for the lengthiness of this note, 'cause I have a lot to address before beginning the next chapter. First off, I want to thank everyone who reviewed. I didn't get around to responding to any of them this time, and I am very sorry I didn't. I've already mentioned how crazy my life has been right now, so I won't complain any more. :) Just, thank you all for your patience, and please keep the reviews coming! I read and love each and every one, and will try to respond to the ones I hope to receive on this chapter.

Second, a quick note on the timing as it relates to canon. We are still between episodes 5 and 6. Lavinia showed up quite a bit earlier in this version than in canon. I got the feeling that it wasn't completely Sir Richard's idea to have Lavinia visit, and, as Lady Grantham, Cora would have ample contacts in London to be able to find Lavinia's address. I figured she would get wind of something going on between Mary and Matthew much sooner in this version, without the hope of Sir Richard and Mary's engagement, and would decide to act faster.

Ok, read the chapter now! I insist! ;)

* * *

_Chapter 19_

After leaving Matthew and Lavinia in the library, Mary had gone straight to Carson to ask about her mother's whereabouts. Upon ascertaining that Lady Grantham was looking over the nurses' schedules in the study, Mary headed in that direction, intent on confronting her mother and demanding an explanation for her selfish and unfeeling actions. What right had she to try to order their lives? What right had she to interfere? It was positively maddening. Her mother had hurt Lavinia, someone who, in no way, deserved it. What was worse to Mary was that she had hurt Matthew. That was something Mary could not, and would not, abide.

By the time she reached the study door, much of the wind had been taken out of her sails. She leaned against the wall, wrapping her arms around her middle as if to take comfort from her own embrace. The truth was, she had absolutely no idea what was being said in the room she had just left. Matthew was alone with Lavinia, the woman who had once captured his heart and attention. Lavinia had never hurt him, never disappointed him. She was all that was good, and kind, and lovely. Lavinia would never have given up her virtue to the first smooth-talking man to come along with exotic good looks and a persuasive touch. Lavinia would never have been dishonest with Matthew. She would never have broken his heart. She would never had hurt him, as Mary had done.

Mary knew she would confront her mother. She had to. But not then. She simply didn't feel equal to it. Instead, she made her way back out into the hall in search of some useful occupation to keep her mind and hands busy while she awaited Matthew and Lavinia's emergence from the library.

She didn't have to wait long. She was rolling bandages in what used to be the drawing room, now an examination room, when Lavinia entered pushing Matthew's chair.

"Carson said we'd find you here," Matthew explained solemnly.

"He's also seeing that my things are collected and loaded into the car. I'll be going back to the station shortly," Lavinia explained, stepping aside to surrender charge of Matthew's chair to Mary.

"You're sure you won't stay the night?" Mary tried one last time, hating to see such a kind person treated so abominably, and wishing there were something she could do to smooth things over.

"Positive," Lavinia answered. "I must admit that I have no very charitable feelings towards Lady Grantham at this moment, and I don't feel equal to seeing her again."

"That makes two of us," Mary responded.

"_Three_ of us," Matthew added in a tone of barely suppressed anger. He could feel himself building quickly towards a meltdown he would rather Lavinia not bear witness to.

Mary's practiced eye immediately perceived Matthew's struggle. He looked exhausted, and terribly sad and drawn. There was anger there as well, and also pain. She looked down and saw that he was clenching his fists.

"Matthew, you must relax. You'll re-injure your fingers," she chided softly, kneeling beside him and taking his left hand gently in hers. She carefully encouraged him to release the tension in his fingers, cringing as he winced in pain at the movement.

"We should put some more ice on this," she said as she noted the swelling around the edges of the bandages. "Shall I take you to your room?"

"Please," Matthew responded, feeling the pressures of the day like a lead weight on his shoulders. He sighed as Mary rose and moved behind him, pushing him towards his bedroom.

Lavinia followed a few paces behind, fascinated by the tender, yet competent, manner in which Mary cared for her intended. Matthew hadn't been exaggerating when he said Mary had been a wonderful nurse, as well as a great friend. She watched as Mary called authoritatively to a uniformed officer named Thomas who followed without question to assist Matthew into bed.

Standing in the doorway of what was, apparently, Matthew's room, Lavinia watched as Mary removed his cap, shoes, and jacket, always careful of his injured left hand. She then loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, making him as comfortable as possible. Thomas soon returned with a bowl of ice, which she carefully placed Matthew's hand in, wrapping it in a towel so that the skin wouldn't become wet.

Lavinia's eyes misted as Matthew reached out with his good hand in Mary's direction. Mary clasped it eagerly and seated herself beside him, stroking his hair with her free hand and murmuring softly to him as he quickly dropped off into a light sleep.

Feeling Lavinia's eyes on her, Mary turned and, carefully extricating her hand from Matthew's loose hold, made her way to the door.

"What happened to his hand?" Lavinia asked softly as Mary stepped out into the hall and closed the door quietly behind her.

Mary wasn't exactly surprised by the question. Of course Lavinia would have noticed. It was only natural that she should wonder what had happened. If only Mary had the words to begin to describe what had occurred to Lavinia, who so obviously cared very much for Matthew's well being, but couldn't possibly understand the turbulence that raged and simmered inside him, always just under the surface.

Seeing the conflict on Mary's face, Lavinia quickly apologized.

"You don't have to tell me, Mary. Really. It wasn't my place to ask."

"No, Lavinia," Mary responded quickly. "It isn't that I don't want to tell you. It is...difficult to explain. If you would join me in the library I would be happy to try."

Seated, once again, in the small, private section of the library, Mary gently and matter-of-factly explained Matthew's meltdowns and the severe variations in his mood and temperament to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed Lavinia. She concluded with the story of Matthew's hallucination in the breakfast room which led to the injury of his left hand.

"Oh, Mary!" Lavinia groaned in sympathy and dismay when Mary had finally finished speaking. "I had no idea. None at all. Poor, poor Matthew."

Not having anything to say in response to Lavinia's sentiments, Mary returned her gaze to the carpet at her feet.

"I'm so very, very glad that he has you to care for him."

Mary's eyes flew to Lavinia's face as she spoke, searching for, and finding, perfect and complete sincerity.

"I'm glad that he will _always_ have you to care for him," Lavinia continued, tears forming in her cerulean eyes. "I don't deserve him at all."

Lavinia's pathetic tone and immanent tears drew Mary's particular notice, urging her from her quiet contemplation.

"You mustn't say that, Lavinia," she consoled gently. "Of course, that isn't true."

"It _is_ true," Lavinia shot back, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I told Matthew that I began seeing another man about a month ago. Do you know how long it's been since Matthew ended our engagement?"

Before Mary could complete the calculation in her head, Lavinia continued.

"A month and two weeks. Two weeks! One fortnight, and I was already seeing somebody else. I didn't forget Matthew. Of course, I didn't. It's just...I hated being alone. I..."

Lavinia paused for a moment as her throat closed up, preventing her from saying the difficult words she knew she needed to confess.

"It was just that...I had already started to feel jealous...of the way Matthew looked at you, and the way the two of you got on so well together. I never understood why he chose me when he could have had you."

Mary opened her mouth to interrupt, but Lavinia hastily continued, her voice uncharacteristically firm and resolute.

"_Now_ I understand. Matthew told me he proposed to you only a short time before he met me. It all makes sense now. My instincts were correct all along. Believe me, if I had thought it was I who truly held his heart then I would never have left his side! I just couldn't...I couldn't be with him...as he was...if he wasn't completely, and totally, devoted to me and in love with me. It may make me a terrible person, but...I just couldn't. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us."

Mary was almost too stunned by Lavinia's speech to respond. Her eyes stared straight in front of her, but she saw nothing.

"Matthew didn't even react when I told him the length of time I've been seeing Benjamin," Lavinia continued. "I don't think it concerned him at all."

Both ladies were quiet for what seemed like an age. Mary was the first to break the silence.

"Well," she began, standing and wiping her damp palms on her skirt, "I could do with a brandy, myself. What about you?"

Lavinia looked surprised as Mary made her way to what was clearly her father's liquor cabinet, and began pouring two snifters of expensive brandy.

She nodded graciously and accepted the offer, feeling, for perhaps the first time him her twenty-odd years, truly in need of the liquid fortification.

When the time came for Lavinia to take her leave, Mary walked her out to the car.

"I'm terribly sorry not to have the opportunity to say goodbye to Matthew," Lavinia lamented as she paused with one foot already in the car.

"I'll tell him for you," Mary offered. "I know he wishes you all the best, Lavinia. Please know that I do, as well."

"Thank you, Mary. Take good care of him."

"I promise you, I will," Mary vowed as Lavinia turned and entered the car.

Feeling sad and weary to the bone, Mary trudged back into the house, and made her way directly to Matthew's room. It was dark, for he was still napping peacefully. She removed his bandaged hand from the half-melted bowl of ice, pleased to see that the swelling had gone significantly down.

Mary sat down beside him, and carefully pushed his hair to the side, out of his eyes. She smiled fondly as a light snore escaped him. Poor darling, he was so very exhausted. He had been doing so well lately that she had to remind herself that his body was still recovering from a traumatic injury, as well as a more minor one. More profoundly, his heart was still trying to heal from an even greater wound, one that could very well take years to mend.

The powerful feeling of protectiveness welled up inside her again. Speaking softly, her voice scarcely a whisper, Mary made Matthew a promise, one that, in addition to the vows she would make before the alter in three weeks' time, she intended to keep for all of his life.

"_I promise, I will never let anyone hurt you again."_

* * *

Matthew awoke later that afternoon to find a sleeping Mary curled into his side. He had to smile at the sight, the feel of her next to him. Her lips were parted sweetly in slumber, her eyelashes slightly fluttering against her smooth cheek, and he hated very much that he had to wake her. But wake her he must, for he had a mission to accomplish before dinner, and he was loath to put it off any longer.

Cora needed to hear from him just how little he appreciated her open disdain for his relationship with Mary, and, above all, her callous actions that hurt, not only himself, but Mary and Lavinia as well. Especially Lavinia, who had done nothing to deserve it. Lavinia was trying to move on with her life. That was how it should be. He and Mary were also trying to move forward, with each other. He was beginning to accept that that was also how things should be - at least, under the present circumstances. If Mary's reputation were still spotless, there would be hope of her falling in love and marrying a fully capable and functioning man and settling down, having children. But that had not been what was in the cards for Mary, or for him. They had each other now, for better or worse, and that was how it should, and would, be. Lady Grantham was just going to have to accept it, and he preferred that she do so before any other innocent parties were injured by her unthinking actions.

Mary protested his plan at first. Her first inclination was to try to shelter him from anyone who had, or could, hurt him in any way, and he loved her all the more for it. She wouldn't stop him, however, from taking his present course. His mind was set, and he would brook no opposition. So, she dressed him and combed his hair, and arranged him by the small table with one chair that had been placed across from his bed for when he wanted to receive visitors in privacy, then pulled the bell pull to summon Carson who was asked to inform Lady Grantham that Captain Crawley requested a private audience with her in his chambers.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you, Matthew?" Mary asked for what had to be the hundredth time.

"I'm sure," Matthew reaffirmed. Taking her hand tenderly to soften the impact of his firm words, he continued, "Mary, as much as I appreciate your concern, I cannot always be hiding behind your skirts like a dependent child. Just because I've been emasculated doesn't mean I cannot stand up for myself and those I care for to my future mother-in-law."

"Matthew, please!" Mary groaned in exasperation, scrubbing her face with her hands. It had been such a very, very long day. Had it truly only been that morning that Matthew had told her he felt happy? It seemed a veritable lifetime ago.

"How many times have I asked you not to say things like that?" Mary chided gently, hating whenever he spoke of himself as though he were somehow inadequate, or less of a man than he was.

Seeing that he had upset her with his hasty words, Matthew gave her hand a light squeeze and uttered a quick apology.

"Forgive me if my words offend you, darling. But you must see that, if I am to feel like a man again, you have to allow me to do some things for myself. You're wonderful, Mary. You've been an excellent nurse, companion, and...and my most stalwart champion and supporter since I came home from the front. It's not that I don't need you any more. I will always need you. I just..."

"You need to gain some of your independence back," Mary filled in when words seemed to have failed him.

"Exactly," Matthew agreed with a grateful smile. "This is one battle I would prefer to fight for us."

* * *

**A/N2: **Next time, Matthew confronts Cora, and wedding plans are well under way!

One more little note about my characterization of Lavinia. I didn't think it was a stretch to have her seeing other guys very quickly. I thought a lot about how she behaves in the pivotal scene in the finale when she *finally* confronts Matthew about his feelings for Mary, and breaks off their engagement. She says that her concern wasn't a sudden thing, and explains that she had started to worry even before his injury. She came back because she felt it was her calling to care for him, probably since Mary was engaged to Sir Richard. Everyone handles breakups differently. Mary grieved the loss of her relationship with Matthew alone, Matthew moved on fairly quickly. I think Lavinia would try to move on quickly, too. She and Matthew are alike in a lot of ways. Hope that makes sense!

Lastly, I have to credit the lovely Alanis Morissette and her fantastic song "Guardian" for providing inspiration for Mary's protective attitude towards Matthew that pervades this and many of these chapters. Look it up on YouTube, if you want. It goes very well with this story.

Ok, enough rambling. :) Thanks so much for reading, everybody!


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20_

Despite Matthew's insistence that he confront her mother by himself, Mary stood with her ear pressed against the closed door, listening as best she could to Matthew's strong, masculine voice as he detailed for her probably-shocked mother just how unhappy he was with her actions.

"I understand your concern, Cousin Cora. Really I do. You love your daughter, and wish the best for her. I can understand that. But Mary and I are adults, and, as such, are entitled to make our own choices about our futures. It was not your place to interfere, and I would thank you not to go behind our backs in such a way again."

Her mother, who clearly wasn't as comfortable speaking freely with Matthew as she would have spoken with Mary herself or with her father, gave only perfunctory responses to Matthew's chiding. Mary suspected that she would receive the full brunt of her mother's displeasure at a later time. It also occurred to her that her father would need to be forewarned to expect his wife to be in less than excellent spirits for the rest of the evening, if not longer. She resolved to ring for him after Matthew was through with her mother.

Then what she had feared most happened. Her mother started detailing all the reasons why this marriage wasn't in her best interest. Many of the reasons, Mary knew, had been on Matthew's mind already.

"Mary's reputation may be tarnished, but I don't believe all hope is lost. She may yet find someone who will still have her, someone who can give her a full life and a family of her own. If you truly cared for her..."

"_Do not_ imply that my care for Mary is less than it ought to be!"

Mary jumped at Matthew's sudden angry tone. Apparently, her mother had struck a nerve.

As Matthew continued to voice his displeasure, Mary began to worry that one of his angry meltdowns was immanent. The poor darling wanted so much to begin doing things, handling things, on his own again, but his emotions were still too unstable to fully allow it. She would have to intervene soon. Her hand poised on the door knob, Mary resolved to speak with Dr. Clarkson about Matthew's lack of emotional stability and violent changes in mood and temperament. Perhaps there was something that could be done. Surely he wasn't the only convalescing soldier to face such challenges?

Apparently, Matthew's anger was fueling Cora's, whose voice had become harder and louder since she last spoke.

"Perhaps marrying you is the only option for Mary, and perhaps it isn't! We wouldn't know, would we? You haven't even given her a chance to try. Because of you, Mary refuses to accept my offer to..."

Mary's heart gave a frightened lurch as she realized what her mother was about to divulge. She had never wanted Matthew to know about the proposed trip to America, or about the hope that she could wait out the end of the scandal, or marry and start a new life there. Panicked, Mary threw open the door, effectively interrupting her mother's tirade, and not a moment too soon.

Seeing the drawn look on Matthew's face as he struggled to gain control of the turbulent emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, Mary went straight to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. She wanted to give Matthew his independence back, and, some day soon, she would. His wounds, both physical and emotional, were still in the healing stages, however. For the time being, he still needed her, and she wouldn't abandon him, not even at his own bidding.

"Mama, there's no point in discussing this further," Mary huffed irritably, ready to put an end to the subject, and her mother's interference, once and for all. "Matthew has made our wishes known, and there can be nothing further to be said on the subject. Now, if you would be so kind as to have Carson locate Papa and send him to us."

"Mary Crawley, I didn't raise you to speak to me in such a way!"

"I am not a child any more, Mama! Now, please, let us have done with this... pointlessness. Matthew and I are getting married in a mere three weeks. Your time would be better served making what plans you desire to make for the wedding. Now, I wish to speak with Papa."

Without another word, Lady Grantham gathered what dignity she could after being so roundly scolded by her eldest daughter, and left the room.

* * *

The first of the banns were read on Sunday. On Monday, a newspaper reporter and a photographer arrived to complete the arrangements for their fancy, quarter-page wedding announcement.

Mary wore her best day dress and her long strand of pearls, as well as a pretty little hat in the newest fashion over a slightly more elaborate hair style than she usually wore. Matthew was to wear his usual uniform, of course. Though he would be wearing his cap in the picture, Mary, for some reason Matthew couldn't fathom, spent ages fussing over his hair, running the comb through it until his scalp was sore and applying more mousse than he supposed strictly necessary. At last, he could take no more and snatched the comb from her hands with an exasperated groan.

"Mary. Darling. Angel. Sweetheart." His tone was tense, almost pleading. "I appreciate your efforts. Truly, I do. But...I am quite capable of combing my hair by myself. In fact, I would like to start doing so from now on, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Mary nodded, slightly crestfallen.

Matthew was still put out with her for stepping in and assuming control of the situation with her mother. He had scarcely said a word to her the previous day, and the constant tension had put her on edge. Apparently, it had done the same to Matthew. On top of all that, Mary had also begun her monthly courses that morning, so she had a headache and some abdominal discomfort to contend with in addition to the tension with both her mother and with Matthew.

The previous day had been a tense one in general at Downton Abbey. Lord Grantham had been furious when he learned of Cora's inviting Lavinia to Downton without discussing it with anyone. He had specifically told her he didn't want her interfering with Mary and Matthew's relationship - that they were to be allowed to make the decision on their own - and she had deliberately gone against his wishes. The news of Lavinia's visit had also reached Isobel's ears, as well as the Dowager Countess', though how the news travelled all the way to the Dower House in only a few hours would forever remain a mystery. For once, the two older ladies were united in their convictions.

Cora, facing disapproval and enmity from every side, decided it was in her best interest to back off and allow Mary to throw her life away if that was what suited her. She threw herself even more whole-heartedly into the running of the convalescent hospital that her home had become, as well as into making what wedding plans she could with the disgracefully short amount of time given her. She may not approve of the marriage, but she would see to it that the wedding itself wouldn't shame them.

Matthew had kept himself occupied with her father most of the day Sunday, leaving Mary feeling discouraged and saddened that he seemed to be trying to push her away. In truth, he wasn't upset with Mary as much as he was frustrated with himself and his situation in general. He was beginning to feel almost like himself again, and, with that, came the desire to function as he once had. Reminding himself that this was an impossibility had become a daily necessity, one that seemed increasingly difficult to accept.

There were, of course, moments when he felt more than happy to allow Mary to take the reins and to minister to him in the firm but gentle way that only Mary could. He knew that there were times when his mind became overwhelmed with grief and anger, times when his still-mending body became exhausted, and times when a task needed doing that he simply no longer possessed the capability to perform. He was glad that Mary was there when he needed her, but he was beginning to feel the need to do what he could do for himself, even if it was only something so small as combing his own hair.

It occurred to Matthew, after he snatched the comb from Mary's hand, that he didn't have a mirror in his room. Frustrated, he dropped the comb onto the table, and did the only thing he could think to do at the moment. He grabbed Mary around the waist, pulled her down onto his lap, grasped her face with both hands, and proceeded to kiss her senseless.

Mary was shocked by his sudden, aggressive move, but remained still and allowed him to kiss her for as long as he liked. Truthfully, she wasn't in the mood for affection that day. Her head ached; her body ached; her stomach was beginning to churn. After Matthew's reticence the previous day, she would have thought to welcome the contact. It had been at least twenty-four hours since he had last touched her affectionately, but both nature and circumstance seemed to conspire against her that day.

Eventually, they found themselves situated under the great cypress tree on the lawn with the house at their backs, taking direction from the photographer, the reporter, and Lord Grantham. When the photograph was finally taken, Mary was positioned standing slightly behind Matthew, one hand on his shoulder and the other at her side. The only posing Matthew had to do was to arrange his hands neatly in his lap, but even that had seemed ridiculously complicated.

It was a long, torturous process to Mary, whose discomfort was growing by the minute. After they were finally released to return to the house, Matthew turned to look at Mary, and was immediately concerned.

"Mary, darling, are you alright?"

"Oh, yes. It's nothing," Mary answered quickly, forcing herself to perk up so as not to draw further suspicion.

Matthew wasn't fooled in the slightest.

"You're pale as a sheet. You look like you should be in bed."

"Really, Matthew. I'm fine," she protested again.

Mary knew she really _should_ be in bed. She already would have been if not for the appointment with the newspaper people and her dedication to being available to Matthew at all times. She didn't want to go upstairs to bed, where he couldn't follow her. No matter his mood, she hated to be separated from him, especially after missing him for most of the previous day.

Matthew tried questioning her again, but Mary resolutely grasped the handles of his chair and began pushing him back towards the house. They went straight to the private library and ordered tea. Mary hoped it would help her head, but she had little hope for its success with the twisting pains in her lower belly. She couldn't hide her grimace as a particularly uncomfortable wave of pain hit.

"Mary, something _is_ wrong. I can see that you're ill."

Matthew reached for her hand, and, finding it cool and clammy to the touch, truly began to fear for her.

"Darling, you really must go to bed. Perhaps Clarkson ought to be called."

Mary shook her head emphatically, then winced as the movement caused a sharp pounding behind her eyes.

"Matthew, I'm not ill. This is perfectly normal."

"Normal!" Matthew cried, stupefied and even more worried. "You look awful!"

"Thank you! That's just what every girl wants to hear from her future husband!" Mary snapped, feeling all the irritability that accompanied her time of the month overwhelming her patience, even with Matthew.

Matthew was stunned and hurt by her outburst. She hadn't spoken to him in that mocking tone since the earliest days of their acquaintance. He was only trying to show concern for her health, yet she reacted with anger and offense. His eyes grew wide as Mary's face crumbled and tears began to form in her eyes.

Was this what he was like during his meltdowns? If so, he would have to start controlling them better, for Mary's sake.

"I'm so sorry, Matthew. I didn't mean to snap at you," Mary squeaked out pitifully as she fought to regain her composure.

"Darling, I'm becoming terribly worried for you," Matthew spoke gently, giving her hand a light squeeze. "Won't you allow me to have Carson call for the doctor?"

"I don't need a doctor, Matthew." Mary gave him an eloquent look, begging him to accept her assurances that she was alright and leave it at that.

Matthew was not to be put off. He would know what was wrong with his fiance, and see to it that she received the care she so obviously needed.

"But...I've never seen you so unwell. I _will_ call for Clarkson, with or without your consent." Matthew pulled his hand away and began wheeling himself toward the door.

"Wait!" Mary reached out a hand to halt his progress. "I'm really fine. It's...it's only my monthly." She spoke the last word so softly that Matthew almost didn't catch it.

His brows knitted together in confusion for a moment before it dawned on him.

"Ahh," he acknowledged with an awkward nod. "Well, perhaps you don't need a doctor, then."

"No," Mary agreed with a nervous laugh. "I should think not."

"You do still look like you could use some rest."

Mary shook her head again, more gently this time.

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"Mary, I'll be fine. You need to rest," Matthew tried again.

Mary only shook her head again, refusing to even think about leaving his side and going where he couldn't find her if he needed her.

After a moment's thought, Matthew's eyes brightened as an idea came to him.

"You can use my bed, if you'd like," he offered happily. "I could take care of you, for a change."

Mary initially wished to protest the notion of him taking care of her. She was his nurse, not the other way around. But the thought of being able to curl up in a bed and sleep away her discomfort sounded entirely too tempting to turn down, especially if she didn't have to leave Matthew to get to it.

"Would you? let me use your bed?" she asked softly.

Matthew smiled fondly at her. He thought he had never seen her look so vulnerable before, and it awakened his protective instincts, which, in turn, made him feel more like the man he once was.

"Of course, my dear. Come."

Mary rose and Matthew started propelling himself forward again, just as Carson entered with their tea tray. Matthew immediately assumed control of the situation.

"Carson, Lady Mary and I would like our tea in my chamber, if you don't mind."

"Of course, sir," Carson answered, then stood aside as they exited the room.

Once they were left alone in the darkened bedroom, Matthew busied himself with turning down the covers and urging Mary to lie down. Mary did as he bid, no longer able to contemplate resisting.

She did think it very sweet when he wheeled himself to the foot of the bed and gently slipped each of her shoes from her feet. He ran his long fingers up and down her hight arches a few times, causing her toes to curl. She smiled adoringly at him as he pushed himself up next to her and drew the covers over her legs. Immediately, she curled up on her side, facing him. A whimper escaped her as the motion inevitably caused discomfort.

"What hurts, darling?" Matthew asked sweetly.

"Mostly my head. And here." She gestured to where her hands were pressed against her lower abdomen.

Matthew gently touched her folded hands, wishing there was something he could do to alleviate her pain. As for the ache in her head, he thought that taking her hair down was the best possible solution to that problem. He had to draw in a steadying breath as his trembling fingers delved into her soft waves, searching for, and carefully extricating, each pin. Mary sighed contentedly as the pressure of her tightly-twisted coiffeur gave way.

Entranced by the tempting sight of her dark hair lying on his pillow, Matthew ran his fingers through it, spreading it out so that it covered all of the pillow but where her head rested.

"I never realized it was so long," he marveled quietly. "It's very soft."

"Thank you. That's more like it, future husband," Mary responded sleepily, but with a teasing gleam in her half-hooded eyes.

Matthew chucked softly at her self-depreciating comment, glad that his ministrations already seemed to be taking effect.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered.

"No, thank you," Mary answered wearily, allowing her eyes to flutter shut. "I think a nap will be just the thing."

"Sweet dreams," Matthew whispered in her ear as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on her temple.

He watched, utterly captivated, as her face relaxed in repose, the lines and creases caused by her discomfort smoothing out in blissful relaxation. Watching her fall asleep - in his bed, her hair covering his pillow - was one of the most erotic experiences of Matthew's life, even more so than the one time he had actually succumbed to temptation and had intercourse with an attractive librarian at Oxford. It was ironic, he thought, that he could say that his most titillating experience with the fairer sex took place after he lost his ability to perform as a man, but it was true. And it was all because it was _Mary_.

An hour later, he still sat beside Mary's sleeping form, holding a pair of dainty leather shoes in his hands. The pretty detail on the buckles became obscured as he was suddenly overcome by the urge to weep.

She was just so _lovely_. And he was so broken.

He remembered the brief glance of her feet that he had been afforded as he removed her shoes. Her tiny, delicate, perfectly-feminine feet. They were so beautiful. Had she not been ill, he could have lavished hours of tender attentions on her feet alone, touching and tasting every delicate dip and curve until he knew them all by heart. He determined that, one day, he _would_ indulge himself in such a way. He couldn't make love to her, but he _could_ have that.

Thinking about the reason for Mary's indisposition had reminded him anew of all that she was giving up to marry him. These monthly times would never cease to come when she fell with child - his child. He would never have the sweet torture of waiting for her courses to end each month so that he could make love to her again. There would never be a rosy-cheeked little girl with Mary's dark hair and his eyes. There was so much that they would never share.

Mary awakened a while later to the sight of Matthew sound asleep with his head resting against the back of his chair. Her shoes were still in his lap.

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the chapter, everybody! I didn't spend as much time on Matthew's talk with Cora as some of you might have liked, but I felt like it disrupted the flow of the story too much if I did.

A couple of you mentioned the hair combing thing in your review of the last chapter, so I had to give a little nod to that. See, your reviews really do have an impact. :)

Anyways, we learned something new and interesting about Matthew in this chapter - he's a bit of a foot man. ;)

Until next time, guys!


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21_

"You look very handsome," Mary observed as she gazed at their black and white photograph in the newspaper Matthew held. "I look like I've swallowed something sour."

"Nonsense. You look lovely as ever," Matthew reassured, reaching over to give his fiancé's knee a light squeeze. He had been awakened rather early that morning by a smiling Mary holding a neatly-pressed newspaper that, as she immediately pointed out, contained their wedding announcement. She had perched herself on the bed beside him as he read the article aloud, scoffing at the portions about him being some kind of hero.

"Of course you're a hero, darling," Mary argued. "You fought valiantly for King and country, and, now, you're rescuing me from the consequences of my own folly. Fortunately, they didn't mention _that_ in the newspaper. At least, not this one."

Matthew smiled good-humoredly at her droll comment, though he was still uncomfortable with idea that he was doing more than he truly was. He certainly didn't think himself so very heroic or valiant as she said. Marrying Mary was certainly no great feat, and it was hardly a sacrifice on his part.

"I may have to start calling you Perseus," Mary joked, drawing a genuine smile from her sober companion.

After breakfast, Mary decided it was time to brave the world outside the Abbey and venture to the dressmaker's to order her wedding dress. It wouldn't be anything elaborate since the wedding wasn't going to be as grand of an affair as it might have been in different times. She did, however, want to look her best for Matthew.

She had debated for several hours over the course of the week since their engagement over color options for her ensemble. Her first thought was to shy away from white, thinking that she would only bring ridicule upon herself by trying to look virginal when she, and the entire world (it seemed), knew she was not. Then she thought that, by not wearing white, she would only be confirming that truth of what had been insinuated about her. That would never do either. In the end, she decided to look for a pallet of soft ivories, which, though not exactly perfect white, were in the white family. As it was late in the year, the off shade was appropriate, and it was unlikely many would think too much of it.

Mary walked into the dressmaker's shop with her head held high, expecting to receive less than welcoming looks from the lady herself as well as from any customers who might happen to be in the shop. She was relieved to find her reception had been tempered by the knowledge of her upcoming very respectable marriage. While a judgmental look did, briefly, flit across the seamstress' face, it was quickly schooled into a practiced smile as the matronly woman offered Mary her congratulations. Mary accepted them with good grace, breathing a sigh of relief that the most difficult part was over.

She selected a pattern in simple but elegant style to be constructed of ivory silk and gold Brussels lace overlay on the bodice and top half of the skirt. Pearl beading was to be added around the high waistline and framing the neckline. There would be a short train, but the front of the dress was to be cut just above the ankles, as was the latest fashion. She also chose ivory silk stockings, a pair of delicately-embroidered ivory shoes, and a veil of matching Brussels lace with pearl beading to complete the ensemble. Mary set out for home feeling very pleased with her choice. She was sure Matthew would heartily approve of the dress she had selected. After all, it was his opinion that mattered most of all. Her selections had been made with the sole object of making herself a bride Matthew would be proud of.

Before returning to the Abbey, Mary decided she would pay Dr. Clarkson a visit at the hospital. She had resolved, on the day of Lavinia's visit, to ask the doctor about Matthew's emotional upheaval and to find out if there was anything else that could be done to help him in that area. At the very least, she hoped to confirm that there was nothing terribly abnormal about his unstable state.

She had to wait several minutes until Dr. Clarkson finished examining a patient before he was able to speak with her. A nurse directed her to a chair in his office, and there she waited. Finally, Clarkson's drawn and tired face appeared in the doorway.

"Lady Mary, what can I do for you today?" he asked.

"Dr. Clarkson. Thank you for seeing me," Mary began as the doctor removed his examination gloves and seated himself behind his desk.

"It's Matthew...Captain Crawley. He..."

"Yes," Clarkson prompted as she faltered, his brow creasing in concern.

"Well, physically, he seems to be making excellent progress. However, I do have some concerns...about his emotional well-being."

"May I ask the cause of this concern?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Mary proceeded to describe Matthew's meltdowns for Dr. Clarkson. She was encouraged to see no signs of surprise on the older man's face. He nodded thoughtfully until she was finished before speaking.

"Captain Crawley's case is not unusual," Clarkson explained. "Many soldiers, especially those wounded in battle, experience such problems upon returning home."

"But what can be done?" Mary asked impatiently. "There must be a way to...to help him...to..."

"I'm sorry, Lady Mary," Clarkson interrupted, "but there is nothing to be done but to be there for him to help him through these...times of difficulty. Make sure there are no sharp objects, or other things, about that he could use to harm himself while he's experiencing one of these "meltdowns," as you put it. They will grow less frequent and severe with time."

Realizing she would receive no real help from Clarkson, Mary grudgingly thanked him for his time and rose to leave. It was, at least, a relief to know that Matthew wasn't unique in his struggles.

When she returned to the house, Mary was surprised to find her father waiting for her just inside the door, almost as if he had been watching for her return. The worried look on his face immediately put her on alert.

"What's the matter, Papa? Is it..."

"Yes, it's Matthew," Robert answered quickly, taking Mary's arm and leading her down the hall towards Matthew's room as soon as Carson had taken her things.

Mary gasped as fear closed in around her heart.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice tense with worry, as she made her legs go faster.

"He had another...episode while you were out. Isobel's with him now. We were lucky she was here today."

After a moment's silence, Robert suddenly came to a stop several doors down from Matthew's room, and turned towards Mary.

"He's very distraught, Mary. I scarcely knew what to do for him this time."

"What, exactly, happened?" Mary asked again.

"He was in the library - the game room - watching the other men entertaining themselves when he suddenly went into hysterics. I'm glad I was just on the other side of the screen, so I was able to get there quickly, though he scarcely acknowledged my presence. Isobel had slightly better luck getting him to calm down. But he still..."

"He still _what_?" Mary asked testily after watching her father falter with the words for several seconds.

"He keeps saying things about...about wishing he were dead, and..."

Mary didn't stay to hear more. She left her father standing in the hall and ran the rest of the way to Matthew's room. The door was open.

As she skidded to a stop just inside the doorway, Mary's eyes locked on Matthew's hunched form, rocking back and forth in his chair as racking sobs tore from his mouth. His head was down, hands fisted in his hair as if he were trying to tear it out. Isobel sat beside him, speaking calmly to him as she rubbed his back soothingly, but having no apparent success in comforting him. Mary could tell Matthew was mumbling something, but was unable to make out the words. She could, however, hear Isobel's reply, and it made her blood run cold.

"No, Matthew, that's not true. We all love you, and are so grateful that you came back alive. You mustn't think such things."

Taking the last few steps into the room, Mary knelt in front of Matthew's chair and placed her hands on either side of his tear-dampened face.

"Matthew," she spoke firmly as she gave him a gentle shake. "Matthew, look at me."

Receiving no acknowledgment, she moved her hands to his shoulders and shook with more force.

"_Matthew, look at me!"_ she cried, her voice breaking on the last word.

Finally, his puffy eyes turned on her, and she watched with relief as _her _Matthew returned.

"Mary," he spoke calmly, though it was clear he was confused. He blinked several times before speaking again. "I'm afraid I've caused a scene again. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Mary responded quickly. "It wasn't your fault, darling. Are you alright?"

"I think so," he answered, accepting a handkerchief from Isobel. "Just a bit...embarrassed."

Now that the crisis seemed to have passed, Mary had to smile at the way his hair was sticking up in all directions.

"Matthew, do you mind if I comb your hair for you, just this once?" Mary asked gently.

Matthew smiled up at her and nodded his consent. He knew he _could_ do it himself, but, sometimes, it was nice to accept Mary's coddling. He also knew that her desire to dote on him had as much to do with her own comfort as his.

So, he allowed Mary to comb his hair while he allowed his mother to fuss over his swollen fingers. Isobel insisted on putting splints on his injured fingers, having seen that the bandages alone weren't enough to keep them in place when he lost control as he just had. Eventually, his eyes began to grow heavy, and the two women managed to get him into bed with only a little help from Matthew himself.

Isobel watched as Mary seated herself beside Matthew on the bed and took the hand he offered. Clearly, it had become somewhat of a routine for Mary to sit beside Matthew as he fell asleep after such episodes, which, it had been quite clear during his earlier breakdown, were also somewhat of a routine occurrence. Mary had known exactly how to handle him, and he had responded to her voice much more readily than he had to Robert's or even to hers, his own mother. It was truly a wonder how close they had become in just over a month, and how well Mary understood her charge.

Matthew having safely drifted off to sleep, the two ladies found themselves walking side by side towards the private library. It went without actually saying so that they needed to talk.

Tea was ordered, and, for several minutes, both ladies sat in silent contemplation as they allowed their emotions to cool from the sad moment they had shared with the man who held both their hearts. Mary stared silently out at the lovely early-autumn day, wishing she had something to say to Isobel that would reassure her after what she had just witnessed, but her mind was completely blank. Finally, the tea arrived, and Isobel offered to pour for them.

Isobel had found over the years that she always thought clearest when her hands were occupied. As she stirred in her lemon and honey, she broke the silence.

"How often does Matthew have these episodes?" she asked.

Mary had to think about her answer for a moment before responding.

"Once or twice a week I suppose. Some are worse than others. You saw the aftermath of the very worst one."

Isobel nodded, remembering very clearly having to set her boy's broken fingers a little over a week past. She hadn't, however, witnessed the crisis itself, and felt very deeply for the devoted young woman who had been taking her broken and battered son under her wing when - Isobel forced herself to acknowledge - she hadn't been there for him as, perhaps, she ought to have been.

"I've actually gotten pretty good at seeing the signs of an impending meltdown and distracting him before things escalate," Mary continued. "They are less frequent than they were when he first came to Downton."

"Mary, I can't tell you how glad I am that he has you now. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all you've done for him."

"Isobel, there really is no need to thank me. Just...being able to be close to him...to look out for him...is the greatest joy and honor I could ever hope for."

Looking down into the murky depths of her tea cup, Isobel tried to fight back the wave of emotion rising inside her. She wasn't typically an emotional woman. Matthew was his father's son in that respect, as well as in his fair looks.

"Mary, may I confess something to you?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course," Mary answered, surprised by the older woman's request.

"You see, I...I've been...throwing myself headlong into my work, not only because I believe in the cause so strongly - and I do. But...I'm afraid I've been avoiding spending much time with Matthew."

"Seeing him is painful for you." Mary understood what Isobel was feeling better than she might have expected.

Isobel's eyes turned towards the high ceiling as she tried to hold back the tears that clouded her vision.

"He's my only child," Isobel spoke after a moment's pause, her voice unsteady. "There is nothing...dearer to me in this world than he is."

Mary remained silent as Isobel paused, obviously gathering her thoughts.

"I just _hate_ that this happened to him. He has always been such a good boy. He did absolutely nothing to deserve this. I just feel so _powerless_. I can't tell you how many times I read his letters from the front, and every instinct inside me told me to protect him, to stand between him and anybody who would try to harm him. But I couldn't.

"And then I looked at him, weeping quietly in that hospital bed, and then in a wheelchair... I would do _anything_ to take his place. But there is nothing I can do for him. No way that I can ease the heartache he feels, or heal the hurt to his body. I can't allow myself to dwell on it, or...I simply couldn't function at all."

Isobel concluded with a sniff as the tears she had been desperately fighting against escaped, and she was forced to get out her handkerchief.

Mary was stunned to see Isobel in tears, and she cast her eyes down to give her what privacy she could. Matthew's mother had always seemed such a pillar of strength, always ready to do what was necessary, even in the face of adversity. Mary knew from personal experience that an immovable facade could hide a very great depth of feeling.

By the time Mary's eyes returned to the woman across from her, Isobel had regained her composure. It was almost as though she had never lost it at all. When she spoke, the soft tones of a brokenhearted mother were gone, replaced by the usual tenacious woman of action that was Isobel Crawley.

"Mary, there's something I've been wondering about for a while now. After today...I wonder if it isn't time to...to see if there is more that we can do for Matthew."

"What are you suggesting?" Mary asked.

"I think we might look into having a doctor who specializes in spinal injuries come look at Matthew. Clarkson is a good doctor, but he has been known to be wrong on occasion. He's also a bit old-fashioned. Perhaps a specialist with more modern views on things like physical therapy and more knowledge of new treatments and procedures could give us some hope. I've read about new surgeries that have the potential to correct certain spinal-related problems. I really think we should try."

Mary's eyes lit up at Isobel's suggestion. Some hope - any hope - would be a godsend.

"I think that's a marvelous idea. We should discuss it with Matthew as soon as he wakes. Perhaps Papa can arrange it."

"I thought you would agree with me," Isobel smiled at the young woman who had been such a staunch supporter of her dear boy. Her respect for her future daughter-in-law had grown exponentially that day. Her son was getting the best of wives and companions, and she couldn't have been more pleased about their upcoming wedding.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Your kind words and support delight me to no end.

Big thanks to Willa Dedalus for listening to me rant about plot ideas and helping me sort through the mine field that is my imagination. And for helping me spell Perseus correctly. :)

I'm going to post a pic of the wedding dress I chose for Mary on my tumblr page. britomart87 dot tumblr dot com I'll occasionally post pics and other things that go along with my stories on there, so please follow!


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter 22_

Dinner that evening was somewhat tense. Matthew was cheerful as he ever was these days, though still somewhat embarrassed that both Robert and his mother had witnessed his moment of weakness. Lady Grantham didn't say anything about the day's events, but it was apparent to all involved that she had heard about what happened. Her demeanor betrayed it. She seemed almost smug as she sipped her wine and nibbled delicately at her food while throwing loaded glances at Mary across the table. When she did speak to Matthew, she adopted a tone that would have been better used with a small child or one mentally deficient. It made Mary's blood boil. If Matthew hadn't been holding her hand under the table, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back and along her knuckles, throughout dinner, she might have been tempted to say something harsh.

After the separation, Cora purposely sought Mary out and seated herself next to her on the settee.

"Mary, dear, we should take these few minutes before the men join us to discuss some wedding details," she began, her tone patronizing.

"What is it you would like to discuss, Mama," Mary answered, forcing herself to remain patient and composed.

"First of all, do you think Matthew could spare you for a couple hours tomorrow to help with the invitations?"

Forcing herself to bite back the defensive response to her mother's overly-honeyed tone and the subtile implication behind her seemingly-innocent question, Mary replied,

"Actually, I don't think Matthew would mind assisting with the invitations himself. It might surprise you, but he actually has a very nice hand."

Cora was caught off guard by her daughter's suggestion, but she recovered before the surprise could register on her face.

"Well, if he doesn't mind, of course..." she responded smoothly.

However much Cora might buck against the idea of her eldest daughter marrying her husband's crippled heir, she couldn't say she bore Matthew any ill will. She would be happy to see him in good health and happy as possible in his condition. It would even be lovely to see him settled with a caring wife. She simply preferred that it not be one of her girls.

"I'm sure he won't mind," Mary continued. "He's always happy to be of use. Papa can attest to it."

After a moment's pause, Cora moved on to the next topic of interest.

"And then there's the issue of your wedding dress. We really mustn't wait much longer to get it ordered. There's scarcely enough time as it is..."

"Oh, no need to worry," Mary cut in. "I ordered my dress this morning."

Cora was momentarily stunned into silence. She was indignant that her eldest daughter would take it upon herself to order her wedding dress without consulting her own mother first. At least she knew she could trust Mary to choose a decent dress, and not to disgrace them all. If it had been Sybil, she would have been justifiably worried sick.

It also occurred to her that she had never questioned what Mary had been doing during the time that Matthew had suffered his embarrassing episode in the library. Well, she had the answer now.

Before Cora could open her mouth to chastise Mary for her inconsiderate behavior, the door opened and the men entered, Robert smilingly pushing Matthew's chair.

Mary immediately went to her fiancé's side, glad for the escape from her mother's inane chatter about things that hardly mattered at all to her. She was marrying Matthew, that was what mattered.

When they were finally allowed to excuse themselves for the evening, Mary took up her usual post behind Matthew's chair as they made their way to his room together. She smiled to think that, in only a matter of weeks, she wouldn't have to leave him to go to her own room after tucking him in. The thought prompted her to gently tickle his neck with her fingertips as she moved around to kneel in front of him and start the process of preparing him for bed.

Matthew's breath quickened as he felt her subtile caress. As she knelt before him to remove his shoes and stockings, he studied the sheen of her dark hair, the gentle curve of her neck, and the tantalizing glimpse of her breasts that the low cut of her evening gown afforded him. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched her at her task.

"Mary, have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

His voice was low and breathy in her ear as he leaned towards her, taking her face in his hands and tilting it towards him. She barely managed to tug the second stocking from his foot before his hands were grasping at her, pulling her to him as his lips continued to plunder hers.

Mary was surprised, but immediately melted into his arms. She found herself seated on one of his thighs, which had fallen open, her legs on each side of one of his. Unconsciously, she began to run the toe of her shoe up and down his bare calf under his trousers, forgetting, for the moment, that he couldn't feel her gesture. It was so easy to forget when he was kissing her with such enthusiasm, holding her with such demanding force.

Despite the many countless times Mary had undressed him, this time was different. She tugged at his bow tie aggressively, pulled at his buttons with rough impatience that almost sent them scattering onto the floor. Never before had Matthew groaned and panted as she bared his skin to the coolness of the room. He had never been so eager to free his hands from the restriction of his sleeves so that they could return to span the tapering circumference of her waist.

For the first time, Mary gave in to the temptation to touch his warm skin, not with the care of a nurse, but with the passion of a lover. Her agile fingers danced over each muscle, each scar. She traced the line of soft blonde fur down the center of his belly and back up to tangle her fingers in the thicker, wirier patch at the center of his chest.

His kisses had moved from her mouth to her neck and exposed shoulders, leaving her free to admire him as her hands explored and tantalized. In unison, they smoothed over the broad expanse of his shoulders, then moved downwards to cup the flexed muscles of his upper arms. She marveled at the hardness and strength she found there for a moment before her hands began to move again, this time over the width of his chest, eliciting a gasp as her nails raked over his hardened nipples.

It was so easy to forget when she made him feel so...incredible. Matthew was trembling with desire as he coaxed her lips back to his.

Her hands continued to work him into a near frenzy. He had never felt anything so intense as her touch on his body. And then he felt pressure. A slight tightening in his trousers. A stirring.

He fought against the sensation, telling himself it was only an illusion. He had been warned to expect this. He had felt it before. It wasn't real.

But Mary made it so easy to forget.

Her fingers made their way down his belly again, teasing at the waistband of his trousers.

A bolt of need shot through him, forcing an animalistic groan from his lips as he seized her wandering hand, forcing it to move lower. Mary protested weakly, frightened and concerned by his sudden turn from passionate and tender to forceful and...she hated to think it, but, perhaps even delusional.

For a moment, he pressed her hand against him, over the spot that had always begged for her touch, staring at it as though it were somebody else's body she was touching. It may as well have been because...he couldn't feel it.

The cruel illusion shattered, and he hastily released her hand, jerking his hand back as though her skin had suddenly burned him.

"I'm so sorry, Mary," he whispered brokenly, unsure if he was apologizing for his ungentlemanly conduct or for being unable to finish what they had begun. The deep blue of her dress began to blur as tears obscured his vision. He fought them, as he always did at first, but a few escaped and trickled down into the valley between Mary's breasts as she held him against her.

It took several minutes for Matthew to realize that he was holding Mary in a crushing grip, probably making it difficult for her to breath. In truth, his grasp was causing Mary some pain, but she wasn't about to deny him the comfort he needed.

Almost as quickly as he had grasped her, he released her, pushing her from his lap almost roughly.

"Matthew, it's alright," Mary spoke quickly as she regained her footing, hoping to calm him before things escalated. "You mustn't be angry with yourself. It is forgotten."

"Of course I should be angry with myself," he shot back. "Such conduct would have been unacceptable even if I weren't half dead. And I am sorry. Sorry and...utterly humiliated."

"Don't be," Mary soothed, kneeling beside him again, hating to look down on him during such a conversation. "I'm flattered that you still...that you want me...that way."

Matthew smiled ruefully and looked down into Mary's concerned eyes.

"I've always wanted you that way, you know. Always."

Mary blushed, but didn't respond. She thought, for a moment, about telling him that she had always wanted him that way too, but decided against it. It would only make him feel even more inadequate than he already did.

Instead, she took the opportunity to bring up a subject that might give him some hope. In fact, his unexpected passionate gesture had given her some hope that there was still something there that, with the right medical attention, might eventually become something more.

"Matthew, your mother and I were thinking...that it might be a good idea to bring in a specialist in spinal injuries to see you. She thinks we may not have done all we can for you - that Dr. Clarkson may not be a believer in certain new treatment methods that she hopes might prove helpful."

"Don't get my hopes up, Mary. Please," Matthew plead, dropping his face into his hands. "I can't bear it."

"Will you, at least, consider..."

"I...I can't," Matthew interrupted, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "There is no hope, Mary. That has been proven, quite unmistakably, tonight."

Despite her natural inclination to argue, Mary allowed the matter to rest. Perhaps he would be more open to the idea when he was in a more stable emotional state.

Matthew felt the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder, and rubbed his cheek against it. Her suggestion of a specialist - of hope - had made him desperately sad. He didn't want to get his own hopes up, nor did he want Mary's hopes raised, only to be crushed. He would always be a disappointment to her. Why make it even worse by entertaining false hopes of a full, happy marriage that would never be?

"I'll send Bates in to help you with the rest," Mary offered softly, knowing Matthew was nearing the point when her presence was no longer helpful, when she served only as a reminder of his deficiencies. Though it always killed her to do so, she knew when to gracefully remove herself from the picture.

"Thank you," Matthew responded tersely.

"Goodnight, then." Mary gave his shoulder a light squeeze as she forced herself to walk away from him. She collected his discarded clothing from the floor and arranged it neatly on the back of a chair before slipping out the door.

"Goodnight, Mary," she heard Matthew call as the door closed behind her.

* * *

It was impossible to lie still, to relax, when every nerve ending in her body hummed with desire to be near Matthew again. Under the covers, her feet rubbed restlessly against each other as she squirmed, wishing with all her might that she were in his arms. Or even simply near him. The distance between their respective bedrooms seemed insurmountable.

Many times since Matthew's transfer to the Abbey she had risen in the middle of the night, when all the house was sound asleep, to check on him, unable to rid herself of the persistent ache his absence aroused. With a groan, she accepted that sleep wouldn't find her on this night either until she had first sated her need for his presence, even if for only a few moments. He would most likely be asleep, but it would still be enough.

She was surprised, upon entering his room, to find him sitting up in bed with the lamp on, reading.

He looked up and smiled as she entered, a vision of perfect loveliness in her flowing white dressing gown, her long chestnut braid resting on her shoulder.

"I'm surprised you're still awake," Mary spoke cheerfully as she slowly approached the bed. She didn't immediately seat herself beside him, not wanting to stay long if she was disturbing him. After the tense moment they had shared earlier that evening, she wouldn't blame him if he wasn't ready to see her just yet.

He soon alleviated her concerns by patting the space beside him and setting his book aside.

"What were you reading?" she asked as she seated herself gracefully.

"The poetry of Lord Byron," he answered. "'Don Juan,' to be more precise."

"You've always been more of a poetry person than I am," Mary observed.

"Perhaps I can read it to you some time," Matthew offered, happy at the thought of sharing something he enjoyed with his fiance. "We may make a poetry-lover of you yet."

"I'd like that," Mary answered, pleased she had found him in such a cheerful mood. She certainly hadn't expected such after their earlier episode.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier, but were you able to find a dress you liked this morning?"

"Oh, yes," Mary answered with a smile. " Nothing too elaborate, but it's classically elegant. I think you'll approve."

"I'm sure I shall," Matthew answered happily, his mind agreeably engaged in picturing Mary in a bridal white, her dark tresses covered by a gossamer vail.

Mary's smile faded as her thoughts returned to the distressing scene she had come home to after her visit to town. She hated to cast a pall over their lighthearted interlude, but felt that she wouldn't be easy until she knew the cause of his earlier distress.

"Matthew, what happened while I was away?" she asked simply, knowing he would need no further clarification to know what she was asking.

Matthew swallowed and blinked several times as he collected his thoughts. As always, the exact moment that triggered his meltdown was difficult to identify, but he had a fairly good idea of the root cause.

"It's difficult to say... exactly," he began falteringly.

"Papa said you were in the recreation room when it happened," Mary prompted gently, not wishing to press him, but seeing that he would need her help in sorting through his jumbled thoughts and feelings.

"Yes, I was," Matthew affirmed, his hands twisting together in his lap. Suddenly, his cheeks warmed and a shy smile blossomed on his face, making him look endearingly boyish.

"What?" Mary asked, her voice taking on a playful lilt to match his expression.

"It's really terribly silly, now that I think about it," Matthew continued self-depreciatingly.

"Tell me," Mary encouraged. "I won't laugh, I promise."

"Well, you see, I...I was watching a couple of the men playing at table tennis, and...I wished I could play too. It all sort of..spiraled out of control from there, I suppose."

Mary's heart warmed and broke simultaneously at his timid admission. So much had been taken from him, even simple things like silly pastimes most people take for granted.

But, perhaps, they needn't all be lost to him. She certainly saw no reason why he couldn't still do something as simple as play table tennis.

Seizing on her moment of inspiration, Mary stood resolutely from the bed and maneuvered Matthew's chair into position next to him.

"Mary, what are you up to?" he asked, eyeing the chair suspiciously.

"You'll see. Now, do you think you can help me get you out of that bed?"

* * *

**A/N: **What is Mary up to now, I wonder?

Big thanks to Willa Dedalus for all the insight and for listening to all my rants and ravings. And for helping me justify the wheelchair smut I couldn't resist writing. ;)

Hope you enjoyed! I'd love to know what you thought.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Phew! So glad to have this one finished. This was one of those chapters that just took a lot out of me. Thanks to Willa Dedalus, as always, for all the help. :)

It's over a thousand words longer than usual. Hope you all enjoy!

**Last time:**

_"Tell me," Mary encouraged. "I won't laugh, I promise."_

_"Well, you see, I...I was watching a couple of the men playing at table tennis, and...I wished I could play too. It all sort of..spiraled out of control from there, I suppose."_

_Mary's heart warmed and broke simultaneously at his timid admission. So much had been taken from him, even simple things like silly pastimes most people take for granted._

_But, perhaps, they needn't all be lost to him. She certainly saw no reason why he couldn't still do something as simple as play table tennis._

_Seizing on her moment of inspiration, Mary stood resolutely from the bed and maneuvered Matthew's chair into position next to him._

_"Mary, what are you up to?" he asked, eyeing the chair suspiciously._

_"You'll see. Now, do you think you can help me get you out of that bed?"_

* * *

Chapter 23

"Mary, what are you up to?"

"You'll see. Now, do you think you can help me get you out of that bed?"

"I...suppose," Matthew answered doubtfully. "It would be a bit silly to wake Bates at this hour. But, Mary...where in blazes are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there," she answered saucily, pulling the blankets off of him. "Can you hold most of your weight with your arms while I...maneuver?"

Matthew's eyebrows rose, but he offered no resistance. He was certainly intrigued by Mary's playful spontaneity and was loath to discourage it.

He scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed hold of the arm of the wheelchair with one hand while using the other to lift as much of his weight as he could up off the mattress. Mary moved behind him and hooked her arms under his, lifting as much as she was able. Matthew chuckled as she released an unladylike grunt at the effort.

"Careful, Mary. You may injure your back too, and then where would we be?"

Her only response was an inarticulate huff as they worked in unison to shunt him over into the chair. Finally, he dropped into the seat with an audible "thunk!"

"Oh, dear!" Mary exclaimed, rushing around so that she could see his face. "I didn't jar you too much, did I?"

"Well, considering all the bits that should have been jarred by that unceremonious descent are entirely without feeling, I think I'll survive," he answered jokingly.

Once relieved of the worry that she had injured him, Mary had to giggle at his silly position, one leg still propped up on the bed. Matthew rolled his eyes, but maintained his cheeky grin, which Mary relished as she helped him adjust to a more dignified position in his chair and slipped his house shoes onto his feet.

"Alright. Here we go," Mary announced with a mischievous smile that Matthew couldn't be unaffected by. He found himself smiling right along with her as she pushed him out into the darkened hallway. He felt like they were two naughty children sneaking out of the nursery to raid the ice box in the middle of the night.

Considering the conversation they had been having just before she dragged him out of bed, Matthew wasn't terribly surprised when she pushed him into the recreation room and placed him at one end of the table. He smiled conspiratorially up at her as she retrieved the ball and two paddles.

"You serve first," she instructed as she placed the ball and one of the paddles in his hand.

"Mary, you never cease to astonish me."

Matthew chuckled to himself as he looked at her standing on the other side of the table, paddle poised and ready to play. For a moment, a torrent of emotions crashed down upon him, and he was forced to take several deep breaths to regain his composure. He couldn't believe the lengths Mary would go to to make him happy, even when he was saddened over such a simple thing as a silly game. She was too good. He didn't deserve her. He had certainly done nothing to earn such devotion. And he could never hope to repay all her kindness to him.

Forcing his feelings aside for the present, he lined up his shot, adjusting to the strange new angle of playing from his chair, and the game began.

* * *

Robert had found sleep impossible to come by, his thoughts plagued by fears for his young cousin's well-being. Twice now he had witnessed Matthew in the midst of a horrible, traumatic breakdown. The first time, he had, at least, been able to do something to help, but that morning...

He had felt utterly powerless, and had nearly panicked. He had paced the front hall for what seemed like an age wondering where Mary was and hoping, rather than believing, that she would be able to pull Matthew out of himself. Watching from the doorway of Matthew's room, he had been amazed by how quickly Matthew responded to the sound of Mary's voice. It was astonishing, really, how close the two had become.

And he was glad. Glad that his daughter was happy and in love, despite how physically and spiritually broken the man of her choosing was. Matthew was still good for her. In these past several weeks since Matthew had returned home, Robert had seen his daughter blossom into a strong, mature woman whom he had grown tremendously proud of.

If only he could be certain of what the future held for them. As a father, his greatest wish was for the happiness and well-being of his children, and he counted Matthew among that number. It was a terrible feeling to be unable to defend his loved ones against the demons that haunted them. All he could do was fight for their right to be together, even if it was his own wife he was fighting against. He hated the tension between himself and Cora, and hoped desperately that it would let up once the wedding had passed and all was settled and done.

He was now headed in the direction of his private library for a glass of brandy he hoped would allow him to rest. He stopped short, however, when he noticed that the light was on in the game room, and he could hear the music of Mary's laughter wafting from the half-open door.

He stopped to take in the sound with a fond smile. She hadn't laughed like that in ages. At least not that he had heard.

"You're falling behind, Mary. Better pick up the slack."

Matthew's playful, taunting tone reached his ears next. Robert's smile widened. Matthew sounded very much like his old self.

Overcome with curiosity, Robert approached the door, his steps slow and deliberate so as not to call attention to his presence.

He watched silently as the two laughed and taunted each other over a game of table tennis. Matthew's back was to him, but he could see Mary's face. Her smile was wide, her eyes alight with that spark he had seen so many times in her girlhood whenever a challenge was set before her. Indeed, she looked like the little girl that he had so adored. His beautiful daughter with the wide brown eyes that had belonged to his late father.

Robert's heart swelled with pride and love as he watched her beautiful face. He had to fight the urge to barge into the room and embrace her as he hadn't done in years.

He hoped he had been a good father to her, that he had always done right by her. But he knew he hadn't always been there for her, not as he should have been. When Matthew had first arrived, he had hurt her with his reserve. If he had only swallowed his pride and told her how much he loved her, how ardently he adored her, perhaps she wouldn't have taken his enthusiastic acceptance of Matthew so much to heart. There were no words to describe how proud he was of the fine woman she had become. No thanks to him, he feared. She had blossomed in her own right. She would make Matthew a fine wife and a wonderful help-mate, and Robert couldn't have been more pleased with that outcome. Matthew would make her a fine husband, too.

After a particularly aggressive few minutes in which the ball bounced rapidly between their two paddles, it got past Matthew and rolled across the floor, eventually coming to a stop against the screen that divided the recreation room from the private library. Robert watched as Mary automatically started in that direction and then stopped herself. She stood patiently on her side of the table as Matthew wheeled himself across the room and bent to retrieve the ball. It took longer than it would have for her to get it herself, but Mary seemed to know that it was better to allow Matthew to retrieve it. Eventually, Matthew returned to his place, and the game began again.

A few minutes later, a breathless Mary threw her arms up in victory as the ball skidded past Matthew again.

"Ha! That's me again! Best two out of three means I take the match," she announced proudly.

"How about three out of five?" Matthew asked enthusiastically.

"Oh, no," Mary responded smilingly. "I know when to quit while I'm ahead."

"Why, you!" Matthew's hands grasped the wheels of his chair, propelling himself around the corner of the table.

Mary shrieked and tried to run, but Matthew had her cornered against the book shelves. He grasped her hips and pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind as he began to plant a series of light, playful kisses on her cheeks and along her neck, drawing that bubbling, girlish laughter from her lips again.

Robert felt his face heat up, and he quickly turned away from the door, embarrassed by the show of affection he had accidentally witnessed. Realizing that any further eavesdropping on his part would be most unwise, he continued on to his original destination and poured himself that drink.

* * *

Both Mary and Matthew still wore happy smiles when they arrived back in Matthew's bedroom.

"I didn't know you were so accomplished at table tennis," Matthew laughed as Mary positioned him beside the bed.

"Truthfully, neither did I." Mary laughed happily as Matthew captured her hand as soon as she released her hold on the handles of his chair and pulled her around to sit on the bed where he could see her face.

"That was the most fun I've had in a long time," he spoke sincerely, taking both her hands in his. "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. _Thank you_, Mary. You don't know what your kindness means to me."

His eyes were glistening with unshed tears by the time he had finished speaking, prompting Mary to lean in and place a light kiss on his cheek, roughened by the day's stubble growth.

"It's nothing, really. I enjoyed our little game. You're more capable than you realize."

"Not just for tonight," Matthew continued emphatically. "For everything. Even the things you cannot possibly gain any enjoyment from."

For a moment there was silence between them as Matthew struggled with feelings of overwhelming gratitude but also maddening uncertainly. He knew hope was a dangerous thing, especially in his condition. His control over his emotions those days was tenuous at best, but...there were things he needed to understand. He had never been good at reading Mary's signals accurately, as had been most painfully demonstrated back in 1914. Yet, there seemed to be something...He couldn't be sure, there might be...Could there be?

"Why do you do it, Mary?" he asked. "Why would you...wait hand and foot on your crippled cousin? Set aside...everything else in your life? Give up so much of your time? Waste the sweetness of your kisses on a man who can't appreciate you as you deserve? Why do you do it, Mary? I need to know."

His questions left Mary feeling as if she, too, were paralyzed. For several moments, she could only stare blankly at the carpet, unable to move or to speak. She felt that she could scarcely breathe. She knew what the answer was, what it always had been. She loved him. She was in love with him. That was why she was willing to dedicate her life to him. That was why it was no sacrifice. Even with everything she did for him, she still felt as though she were getting the better end of the bargain.

But to tell him that would be to risk everything they had built together. She couldn't be certain of his reaction, and, until she was his wife and he couldn't send her away, she wasn't sure she was willing to risk exposing her deepest feelings. If Matthew knew that the bulk of the reason why they hadn't been married years ago was her hesitation to tell him about her past with Pamuk - if he comprehended all the time they had waisted so unnecessarily - it could send him into a spiral of grief and regret that she wasn't sure even she could pull him out of. His self-esteem was too fragile, his emotional state too tenuous, to risk it. He couldn't handle the truth, not yet. There would come a time when she would divulge all that was, and had been, in her heart, but that time hadn't arrived.

Additionally, her silly pride simply wouldn't allow her to confess her feelings before he did. She knew it wasn't right of her to think that way, not with everything that had happened, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was fairly certain that he, at least, harbored some romantic attachment to her, though she knew his feelings couldn't possibly be what they were after how she had hurt him. And then...he _knew_. He knew what she had hoped he would never, ever discover. But his kisses...were hopefully not born of gratitude for her care. No, he had kissed her just as passionately years ago, when he thought she might accept him. Even then, he had never said he loved her, not in so many words. It simply wasn't something one went around _saying._ She had never told anyone she loved them, not even her parents. Expressing her innermost feelings was no small matter. If - no, _when_ - she said it to Matthew, she would be secure in his feelings, and assured that he could handle hers.

"Mama once told me, years ago when you first arrived at Downton," Mary began softly, "that I should be kind to you because I might need you some day. Turns out she was right, though she seems to have had a change of opinion. Due to my own foolish choices, I need a protector. I can think of no one I would rather trust my future well-being to than you, Matthew. After all, I consider you my..."

"Your dearest friend. Yes, I know," Matthew interrupted her resignedly. "And you'd get to stay at Downton."

Despite himself, Matthew felt the sting of disappointment as her words sank in.

"_But what did you expect?" _his logical mind screamed at his heart. "_That she would confess to being violently in love with you? That didn't happen even under ideal circumstances - when you had everything to offer her. Why on earth would you even entertain the possibility now?"_

Forcing himself to remain upbeat so that Mary wouldn't suspect the conflict that raged inside his breast, he raised her hand to his lips for a reverent kiss.

"Whatever your reasons," he spoke softly, "I am truly grateful. And I plan to spend the rest of my life doing whatever is within my power to make you happy."

Mary found herself too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment to make any sort of reply, so silence once again descended, only to be broken when Matthew suddenly had another thought.

"Do you kiss all your dearest friends with such enthusiasm?" he asked cheekily, pulling Mary instantly from her pensive state as she dissolved into slightly hysterical giggles.

"Oh, Matthew, of course not," she answered, even though she was fairly certain the question was rhetorical. "I simply find your kisses...very pleasant."

"I thought as much," Matthew retorted playfully. "I remember what occurred at Sybil's coming out ball in a remarkable amount of detail."

Mary blushed scarlet as she recalled her brazen behavior on the terrace of their London home - that behavior that had caused Matthew to believe that she was ready to accept him. As ashamed as she was, she could never bring herself to regret that moment. It had been one of her fondest memories since Matthew walked away from her at the garden party all those years ago.

As he watched the blush blossom over her pale face, Matthew also recalled the events of that evening. He had held her rather closer than was proper during their dances, teasing and taunting her by leaning close to whisper intimately in her ear and toying with the edge of her gown, allowing his fingertips to draw it back slightly so that he could touch her skin. He vividly remembered watching the gooseflesh appear on her upper arms above her gloves, knowing and loving that he had caused such a raw, visceral reaction in her.

Then they had found themselves alone on the terrace. She had practically attacked him. He remembered every sensation: the tickle of the ivy that grew on the stone wall against the back of his neck as she pressed him into it; her small hands slipping under the fabric of his tailcoat; those soft lips parting his. And then she had stunned him by slipping her tongue past his lips and stroking it against his own. His knees had very nearly failed him at that moment. He had a vague memory of wondering where Mary had learned to kiss like that. It certainly wasn't from him. For all that he had wasted no opportunities to steal her kisses, he had always been somewhat gentlemanly about it. He knew now, of course, who it was that had introduced her to such intimate kisses - among other things he couldn't bear to think about.

"You must be tired after all that effort. I know I am," Mary spoke cheerfully, breaking the loaded silence that had descended as they both lost themselves in memory.

"Yes, but it's a pleasant sort of tired," Matthew answered her, glad for the shift in conversation. "I think I'll sleep like the dead until well past breakfast."

"I'll bring you a tray," Mary offered solicitously. "Then, perhaps, you can read Lord Byron to me, as promised."

"I shall look forward to it," Matthew grinned, truly thrilled by the thought of Mary curling into his side while he whispered romantic poetry in her ear.

"Well, then. That's settled," Mary said decisively as she stood from the bed. "Now for the real challenge of the evening - getting you back into bed."

"Oh, dear," Matthew groaned as he eyed the bed beside him. "I suppose...I could sleep on the floor. But only if you stay with me. I'll be a gentleman and let you take the bed."

"What utter nonsense," Mary scoffed as she fluffed his pillow and folded the blankets neatly back. "We got you out of it. We can get you back into it."

"Yes, but before we had gravity on our side. Now..."

A light rap on the door frame caused them both to start.

"Forgive me for startling you both, but it seems a bit of assistance might be required."

Robert smiled in amusement as he slowly entered the room.

"Papa," Mary greeted him with a heartwarming smile, "your timing is impeccable."

"I couldn't agree more," Matthew seconded. "You have just spared me an even greater humiliation than being decidedly trounced at table tennis by my fiance."

Robert gently lifted Matthew into bed, then stood aside to watch shyly as Mary drew the covers up over him and leaned down to bid him goodnight with a light kiss that Robert was sure she wouldn't have attempted unless she had thought his eyes were averted. He quickly turned his back so that Mary wouldn't know he had seen. He felt decidedly out of place.

"Goodnight, Mary," he heard Matthew whisper. "Again."

"I promise, it'll be that last time tonight," Mary smiled as she rose from the bed.

"Now, you run on up to bed, young lady," Robert chided in his best "Papa" voice. "I'm surprised to find you up at this hour."

"Yes, Papa," Mary answered indulgently, standing on her toes to place a light kiss on her father's cheek.

With a final glance back at Matthew, she left the room.

"Robert, please check in on her before you go to bed," Matthew spoke as soon as Mary's form disappeared from sight. "I hate for her to be out of her room alone at this time of the night. The way some of the other men have treated her...I just want to make sure she makes it to her room alright."

Robert was impressed by Matthew's concern for Mary, and also very deeply touched.

"I will, Matthew. You have my word."

"Thank you," Matthew answered softly. "I plan to keep her with me always just as soon as we're married. That way, I'll always know she's safe."

"It's also nice...when a marriage is a loving one...simply to be close to one another."

Robert twisted his hands together as he spoke, feeling terribly awkward discussing his daughter's future sleeping arrangements. Still, there were some things he felt needed to be said.

"Cora and I share a bed...every night. Not only when we...well, _you know_."

Matthew nodded awkwardly, unable to look his mentor in the eye after such an unprecedented show of candor.

"Sometimes...simply lying side by side... or holding each other close...can be more meaningful and intimate than...well, _you know_."

Matthew had to smile at Robert's inability to say a simple three letter word. He was grateful for his cousin's kindness in addressing a subject that was obviously difficult to discuss.

Thinking back to the night of the thunder storm - the night he had passed with Mary tucked most pleasantly against his side - he could almost see the truth in Robert's words. Then he was reminded of the next morning...of earlier that afternoon...and his spirits again deflated.

"Well, goodnight, dear chap." Robert smiled cheerfully as he took his leave, and Matthew did his best to return the gesture. He hoped his lack of response would be attributed to fatigue.

Despite his weariness, sleep didn't come easily or quickly.

He wished Mary was there with him. He wanted to hold her close. He wanted to kiss her again, to thank her properly for...for simply being so wonderful to him. For simply being _Mary_.

His earlier train of thought resumed where it had been diverted, and he began to wonder if Mary might be coming to care for him as more than a close friend. The way she had pulled frantically at his clothing. Her passionate kisses. Those sweet little sighs of pleasure she probably wasn't even aware she was making. All these things told him she cared.

But she had done all that before. Well, not the part about her removing his clothing, but all the other things. He had been sure of her affection once, and all had come to naught.

He also had to remember that she had given herself to another long before their relationship had progressed beyond mere friendship.

His Mary was a passionate woman. That much was evident. She enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, and wasn't averse to enjoying them with him. At least, to the extent he was able. Some might think less of her for it, but he never could. Her passion mirrored his own. If only they could have been together when he was still a complete man, how wonderful it might have been!

Whatever her past mistakes, he knew her heart was pure, untouched and untainted. A practiced seducer had taken advantage of her passionate nature. She wasn't to blame for that. She had been so young and so sheltered up until that point. How could she be to blame?

Perhaps his love for her had blinded him. He had to admit it was possible. Blind or not, all he desired was her happiness and well-being. He could give her that. Maybe not complete happiness, but he could give her protection and a permanent place in the home she loved. Respect. Companionship. All these things, he could give her.

And he could give her some fleshly pleasures as well. He didn't have much experience in such matters, but, if she would allow him, he would be only too happy to...experiment.

The images his mind conjured sent another jolt of phantom arousal zinging through him, and he clenched his teeth against the torturous sensation.

When he finally slept, his mind continued to torment him with images of Mary underneath him, crying his name in pleasure as her soft flesh yielded to his amorous assault. Just before he could cry out his own release, he awoke in a cold sweat, Mary's name on his lips, and a lingering heat in his blood.

* * *

**A/N 2: **Thanks for reading! I would love to know what you thought if you have a minute. :)

I tried to address what seems to be the most pressing issue to readers at the moment: whether or not Matthew should begin to suspect the truth of Mary's feelings. I still have reservations about her revealing too much right now. I mean, he had a meltdown only that morning. Poor darling's just not ready for it. Even if Matthew could handle the news, Mary isn't ready for it either. I felt that this was true to the characters as JF wrote them, but if your opinion differs I would still love to hear it. Find me on tumblr (Britomart87) and we can discuss it. Don't be shy! I absolutely love discussing DA with other fans. :)

Cheers!


	24. Chapter 24

_Chapter 24_

The weeks leading up to the wedding passed as smoothly as could be hoped. Mary succeeded in convincing her mother to shorten the initial guest list considerably, leaving only thirty or so invitations for Matthew to write out in his neat, but elegant, hand. He held the last one for several moments, his eyes scanning the words repeatedly, as she had often seen him re-read the same sentence in one of his poetry books multiple times so he could savor the emotion or the imagery the words evoked.

_The Earl and Countess of Grantham request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter, Lady Mary Crawley, to Captain Matthew Crawley on Wednesday, the eleventh of October, 1918. _

When he noticed her scrutiny, he blushingly handed over the expensive piece of stationary for her to fold and tuck into an envelope to be addressed and posted.

A week before the wedding, Mary wheeled Matthew a few doors down the hall from his first-floor bedroom to show him the small set of adjoining rooms she had selected as their married quarters. Much like his own room, the new rooms were tastefully, if simply, decorated in warm, serene colors. A large four-poster bed dominated the larger of the rooms. The dressing room, which would serve as his official bed room, was only large enough to hold a very small bed and a wardrobe. It was decided that his current hospital bed would be moved the day of the wedding, though both knew this was only for the sake of formality. Both fully intended to occupy the larger of the beds. The small bathroom across the hall was also to be set aside for their exclusive use.

Mary was immeasurably pleased when Matthew passed more than a week's time without even a hint of a meltdown, thanks to a concerted effort to ensure he wasn't left idle for long periods. Though wedding plans inevitably claimed some of her time, she tried to include him as much as possible. Even when he wasn't helping, he enjoyed simply sitting beside her, watching her work. Often times Robert would claim Matthew's attention with estate matters, or to discuss the latest developments in regards to the war. He even challenged him to a round of table tennis on more than one occasion. Isobel offered to take time out of her busy schedule to have tea with her son a couple times a week, which Matthew always looked forward to. Mary was immensely grateful for the collaborative effort made on Matthew's behalf. He truly did seem to respond well to the attention, and the results were tremendously gratifying.

On the evening following their table tennis escapade, the engaged couple had established somewhat of a nightly routine. Mary would linger for an hour or so after tucking Matthew into bed to listen to him read aloud to her. He was certainly better at it than she had been during his time in the hospital. Matthew had the richest, most perfect masculine voice imaginable. Mary could listen to him read for hours on end, no matter the selection. The smooth velvet of his voice was hypnotic, often lulling her into a trance-like state that he had to say her name repeatedly to awaken her from.

Sooner than either could comprehend, the day before their wedding was upon them. Friends and relations began to arrive, throwing the house into near chaos, despite the limited guest list. Mary stood tall and proud by Matthew's side, her hand constantly resting on his shoulder, as she introduced him to those few more distant relatives whom he had yet to meet. At dinner, she practically glowed with pride when her Aunt Rosamund leaned close to her and remarked on how handsome her soon-to-be husband looked in his scarlet jacket. Of course, Mary couldn't have agreed more. Matthew even seemed somewhat happy, perhaps even content. He accepted the repeated congratulations with a bashful grin and a small nod, often reaching for Mary's hand whenever his good fortune was remarked upon.

The happiness he felt in preparing to take Mary for his wife astounded Matthew. For days before, he had worried that the well-wishes of their guests would be difficult to stomach. Still, he supposed he truly was fortunate to have Mary for his bride. She was the one less fortunate, though one would never know it looking at the genuinely happy smile that graced her etherial face. It was embarrassing to have to greet guests from his wheelchair, though he was universally treated with respect and even warmth. He was certainly grateful that his splint had been removed the previous day, sparing him the additional humiliation of speculation about his injured hand. Occasionally, the thought that all these people who shook his hand and offered him their congratulations were secretly pitying him because he couldn't make love to his bride would intrude, but he always forced it away. The sight of Mary smiling brightly, slender curves silhouetted in her diaphanous pale pink gown, was enough to distract him most sufficiently. It seemed that, when his intended was near, his mind could focus on little else.

Mary was relieved to see her mother smiling and acting the part of proud mother-of-the-bride, despite the truth of her feelings. Lord Grantham, who hovered at his wife's side almost constantly, was probably the one to thank. He had made it quite clear to Mary that he wouldn't allow her mother to spoil her special day, and he, apparently, meant to stick to that resolution. A part of Mary hoped that her mother had simply seen how happy Matthew made her and decided not to interfere, though her logical mind immediately pushed the notion aside as a vain hope. If she couldn't have her mother's approval, at least she was secure in her father's, and in the knowledge that her mother cared enough for appearances that she wouldn't allow her true feelings to show when company was present. Mary supposed it was the best she could have hoped for, and was content.

Earlier that week, Matthew had thoroughly shocked the family by asking Mr. Bates to stand up with him at the wedding. Of course, the kindly valet had taken quite a bit of convincing, arguing that it wasn't his place. Matthew would have none of it, though. To him, it seemed the most sensible choice. All those whom he considered close enough friends to be asked to travel for the wedding were either dead or fighting in France. William would have been his first choice, had he lived. After all, it was because of William that there was to be a wedding at all. But Matthew also felt indebted to Bates for the man's constant assistance on top of his regular duties, even lending a willing ear whenever Matthew felt the need to vent his frustrations to another man - preferably one who was not his fiancé's father - and he trusted Bates' discretion implicitly. It seemed a fitting show of gratitude, as well as means to an end. Despite Mary's teasing about his middle class ways, he knew she also saw the logic in his choice. He suspected she was secretly pleased, as was Lord Grantham.

When the sexes separated after dinner, Robert shocked Matthew by asking Carson to fetch Bates.

"I believe it appropriate for the groom and the bride's father to have the best man join them for a pre-wedding toast, do you not agree?"

Matthew, of course, agreed heartily. If Carson disapproved, he carefully hid it.

Bates was surprised by the invitation, but accepted with good grace. Matthew was treated to a quarter hour of friendly advice from the two older gentlemen whose experiences with the married state couldn't possibly have been more varied. Fortunately, the presence of the bride's father prevented any discussion of an intimate nature, sparing Matthew any uncomfortable moments. Bates volunteered to wheel Matthew to the drawing room himself before taking his leave, assuring his young charge that he would be awaiting his summons later that evening.

* * *

When the intended couple were finally allowed to retire for the night, it seemed almost wrong to go about their nightly routine as they had done for the past fortnight with so momentous an event to take place in mere hours.

Matthew tugged eagerly at Mary's hand as she painstakingly tucked the blankets under his lifeless legs, encouraging her to sit down beside him.

"What is it?" she asked, noticing his boyish grin.

"Get in with me," he demanded playfully, tugging again on her hand. "I have a special poem to share with you tonight."

"But I'm fully dressed," Mary half-heartedly resisted. "Will the chair not suffice, as usual."

"No," Matthew answered decisively. "I want to hold you while I read it. It's a special poem, you see. One that reminds me of you."

Mary sighed in mock-irritation and shrugged her delicate shoulders.

"I suppose I could remove my shoes."

"Please, allow me."

Mary's eyebrows shot up at Matthew insistent tone and outstretched hands. She hesitated for a moment before tucking her skirts modestly around her legs as she swung them up onto the bed beside Matthew's torso to allow him to remove her shoes.

Licking his lips in anticipation, Matthew took one small leather shoe in his hand and slipped it almost reverently from her foot. An involuntary groan escaped him as he quickly placed the shoe on the floor beside the bed, then wrapped both his hands around her delicate extremity. The sheer silk of her stocking slipped delightfully under his fingers, but he longed for the warmth of her naked skin.

_Tomorrow night, _he reminded himself. By tomorrow night, she would be his wife, and it would be his privilege alone to see and touch her supple flesh. The thought infused his veins with warmth, as he continued his attentions to her adorable feet.

Mary was baffled by Matthew's behavior. After removing both her shoes, he stroked her feet repeatedly, staring at them as though they were the most fascinating things he had ever beheld. He ran his fingertips lightly across each of her toes, causing her to jerk and release an unladylike giggle.

Matthew's eyes lit up in utter delight.

"Ticklish, I see," he drawled, his voice deep and rough, his hands gentle. "That's...that's very nice. Very nice indeed..."

He punctuated his barely-articulate praises with a light kiss to one of her high arches, earning a surprised gasp from Mary, who was utterly astonished by his attentions. She was quite willing to humor him, however, despite her growing blush.

When he placed both her feet on his chest, she couldn't stop herself from teasingly tracing the shape of it through his nightshirt with her sensitive toes, enjoying the way her silk stockings slipped easily over his firm musculature.

Mary couldn't possibly have held in her laughter at Matthew's response. His face had gone completely red; his eyes closed as if in ecstasy. He even released a quiet groan, and she could feel the rapid staccato beat of his heart under her right heel.

"Mary, do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked helplessly, his body humming with excitement at her unknowingly provocative touch.

"Honestly, I haven't a clue," she answered with an amused smile.

"It's your...your feet," he gasped out.

"What about them?"

"They make me insane. They're perfect."

"My _feet_? Really, Matthew. I thought you had more sense than that."

Without warning, Matthew began mercilessly ticking her toes and arches, causing Mary to laugh so forcefully that hardly any sound escaped at all. He was instantly reminded of the night they had laughed together over the salty pudding at dinner. At that moment, his gaze riveted on her sparkling eyes and that rare, bright smile, he had known beyond all doubt that his heart was irrevocably hers.

"Matthew! Stop! Mercy!"

He acceded to her gasping pleas and placed her feet back upon his chest, stroking over the tops of them softly as she caught her breath, her stunning smile still lighting up the dimly-lit room. If he angled his head just so he could just glimpse the outline of her shapely legs under folds of her skirt.

"You are...utterly enchanting," he spoke sincerely. He felt that his heart must be in his eyes.

"Oh, Matthew," Mary sighed as she took in his words, her heart beating painfully fast. Even doing something as silly as touching and kissing her feet, Matthew made her feel more beautiful and more _whole_ than she had ever thought possible.

She adjusted her position so that she could slip beneath the covers and rest her head on his chest. Matthew placed several tender kisses on her fragrant hair as he reached for his volume of Byron's poetry and opened it to the marked page.

"I first came to associate this poem with you back before I first proposed. I thought, surely, Byron must have known you in another lifetime."

Mary closed her eyes contentedly, cutting off her sense of sight to better savor his dulcet tones in her ear. Wrapping his free arm securely around her, he began,

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

"One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."

_Pure. Mary's eyes shot open at the word. She was hardly that._

"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!"

By the time he had finished reading, Mary's eyes were clouded with tears.

"Oh, Matthew, how can those words possibly be applied to me? I who am neither pure nor innocent?"

"I disagree," Matthew shot back, his arm tightening protectively around her slim shoulders. "We, all of us, make mistakes. It's what's in your heart that truly matters. And, your heart, my darling bride, is pure...and innocent. You show me that every day through your kindness, your generosity...through your gentle and quiet spirit." *

Seeing that Mary continued to shake her head in resistance to his words, Matthew tried a different tactic.

"What would you say, Mary, if I said I was half a man?"

"Of course, you aren't that," Mary immediately perked up, lifting her head from his chest to look into his eyes.

"Then neither are you tainted, or impure, in any way. It's what's in here," he placed his hand over her heart, "that truly matters."

Mary's breath hitched as his hand rested lightly over her breast, applying the gentlest of pressure to her sensitive flesh. Her nipple hardened under his palm, which he must have felt, as he carefully increased the pressure until her entire breast was cupped in his large, warm hand.

With an almost desperate moan, Mary thrust her fingers into his golden hair, pulling his head towards hers for a frantic kiss. As she writhed against his hand, a part of her knew that there could be no complete satisfaction for the desperate longing his intimate touch awakened inside her, yet she couldn't regret her choice to make him hers. She would gladly live with this sweet torment until her dying day.

After several minutes of deep, desperate kisses, Matthew slowly pulled back. The hand that still tingled from its blissful contact with her feminine softness rose to her cheek, stroking lightly over her velvety skin.

"Tomorrow's a big day," he whispered breathily. "You'd best get some sleep."

"I'll meet you at the altar," Mary responded, her voice equity unsteady.

"Are we really doing this?" Matthew asked hesitantly, his expression equal parts wonder and apprehension.

"Yes. We really are," Mary answered him gently, leaning in for a final feathery kiss before rising to reclaim her shoes, trying not to worry too much about the sudden uncertainty in Matthew's eyes.

Sleep didn't come easily for either that night. The next day would be life-altering for both in many ways. At the end of it, however, they would belong to each other in way both had thought, for years, was lost to them forever...

_For better or for worse._

* * *

**A/N: **Just fyi, in my headcanon, Matthew has a bit of a foot fetish. I make no apologies. :D

Big thanks to Wila Dedalus, for listening to me ramble on about this and that, and for contributing so many brilliant ideas.

Sorry about the less-than-ideal formatting with the poem. I tried and tried to get this thing to let me put spaces between the stanzas, and Mary's thoughts that I wedged in there, but it would have none of it.

_*Here, I borrowed some wording from the Bible's description of the attributes that make a woman truly beautiful. I thought it suited Mary well. _

_- _"the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight." - 1 Peter 3:4

Note:

_I was a bit concerned that the idea of Matthew telling Mary that what was in her heart mattered more to him than the mistake she had made was a more modern, American idea than the way an Edwardian man would have thought, but I decided to take the risk. While I'm on the theme of Biblical references, there are many scriptures that emphasize the importance of the content of a person's heart over appearances or actions. I guess if this dates all the way back to the Bible, it's not too much of a stretch here. _

"Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." - 1 Samuel, 16:7

Thank you all so much for reading! I know this chapter was a little on the short side, but the next one will be a good deal longer. I would love to know what you thought!


	25. Chapter 25

_**A/N:**__Well, here it is, folks! Big turning point chapter. __  
_

_Just a quick note about Edwardian weddings before I begin, the "groom can't see the bride before the wedding" tradition wasn't a thing then, so don't be alarmed that they see each other at breakfast. Just wanted to prepare you all for that. :)_

_Big thanks to Willa Dedalus, wonderful beta and friend, so helped a ton with historical research as well as keeping my scattered mind on track. You rock!_

_Now, without further ado..._

_Chapter 25_

Excitement woke Mary shortly after sunrise on the morning of the wedding. Anna responded almost immediately to her ring, bustling into the room with a bright smile and a cheerful greeting for the bride.

"Would you care for a bath this morning, milady? Perhaps it would help settle your nerves."

"Thank you, Anna, but I'm not nervous. Just excited," Mary responded, a smile of deep contentment settling over her face. "I can scarcely believe it's really happening."

Anna's smile grew gentle as she piled Mary's hair into a loose knot on the top of her head so that it wouldn't get wet in the bath.

"You've loved 'im for a long time, milady," she spoke quietly. "I can't say how happy it makes me to see you so content."

"Oh, Anna," Mary sighed, deeply touched by her friend's words. "If only I could see you so happily settled..."

"Don't feel sorry for me, Lady Mary," Anna responded with a brave smile and a quick lift of her chin. "John...Mr. Bates...hasn't given up hope that the divorce might yet go through, and neither have I."

"I hope it does soon. You deserve to be happy."

Silence fell for a moment before Anna reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a small object from therein.

"No more talk about me and my romantic woes, now. This is a happy day. You're marrying Mr. Matthew in only a few hours, and I've got something to give you for good luck."

"Oh?"

"It's a sixpence for your shoe. You know... "_something old, something new, and a sixpence in your shoe."_

"Oh, Anna, how thoughtful! Thank you," Mary responded, truly touched by the maid's friendly gesture.

About an hour later, Mary was just stepping into her beautiful bridal gown when Cora bustled into the room, intent on overseeing the bride's preparations.

"Mary, darling, do be careful of the beading. You wouldn't want to snag the silk on it," she chided as she unnecessarily moved to assist Anna in adjusting the gown over Mary's shoulders. "It's a lovely gown, but I do wish you'd chosen a longer train."

"Mama, really. One would think you had forgotten the entire reason we decided on a small wedding in the first place," Mary shot back, already irritated with her mother's officious and willfully-disapproving manner.

Fortunately, after making only a few pointed remarks to Anna about Mary's hair and jewelry selection (her "something old" being an antique jeweled comb from the family heirloom collection), Cora bustled from the room to attend to last minute arrangements for the wedding breakfast.

Mary's hands trembled, and she twisted them nervously in her lap as she struggled to remain still for Anna to arrange her hair.

"No need to be anxious, milady," Anna offered smilingly as she secured another curl in place with a jeweled pin.

"I'll be sure to remind you of that on your wedding day," Mary teased, happy for the distraction Anna provided.

Just as Mary was pulling on her cream satin gloves, Cora entered, a large white box cradled in her arms.

"I have your bouquet, Mary. You won't need to carry it until we arrive at the church, of course, but I thought you might like to see it."

Intrigued by her mother's conspiratorial smile, Mary rose to have a look at the bunch of flowers in the box. The lid was lifted, and she inhaled deeply of the sweet fragrance that wafted from within.

"How lovely!" she exclaimed in delight. She was surprised to find a card and a small wrapped box nestled beside the bunch of fragrant blooms. "What's this?"

"A gift from your groom," Cora answered with a grin. "Go on, open it."

Mary eagerly tore at the silver wrapping and popped open the small black jewelry case to reveal a delicate pearl bracelet.

"It's beautiful," she marveled as she handed the bracelet over to Anna for assistance in slipping it over her gloved hand. "Did Matthew...?"

"I arranged for my favorite jeweler from London to bring him a selection," Cora explained, to Mary's astonishment. "It was a bit of a challenge to keep it a secret from you. The two of you are together almost constantly."

"Oh, don't look so surprised, dear," the countess continued, seeing her daughter's open-mouthed disbelief. "I may not...exactly approve of this marriage, but Matthew is a fine young man. He's been nothing but respectful towards me, despite some of the...less than kind things I said to him just after your engagement was announced. And he _is_ your father's heir, after all. You could certainly do worse."

"Thank you, Mama," Mary gasped out, still unable to close her mouth completely, so great was her astonishment at her mother's change of heart, however small. She had feared that Cora would try to talk her out of it until she was actually standing at the altar.

"The flowers are also from Matthew. He insisted on being allowed to choose them for you," Cora continued after a moment's pause, her small smile betraying her amusement at Matthew's unusual gesture. "I'll give you a moment to collect yourself before you head downstairs. Anna..."

"Coming, Lady Grantham."

Anna bobbed a curtsey to the retreating countess, and gave Mary one last encouraging smile before moving towards the door.

"That's a very thoughtful groom you have there, milady," Anna offered before leaving the room. "I'm sure you'll be very happy. Very happy indeed."

Once alone, Mary ran her gloved fingers over the delicate petals, marveling at the beauty of the flowers Matthew had chosen for her. She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves before opening the card. It read, simply:

_To my darling bride, _

_Lilacs, because you were my first love;_

_White roses, because you are, and always will be, my dearest friend; _

_And Baby's Breath, because you will always be pure and innocent in my eyes. _

_Yours, now and forever,_

_Matthew_

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the private library..._

"Matthew, my boy, I cannot tell you how much peace this day brings me. The knowledge that my daughter's future is now secure...well, it's one of my greatest joys as a father."

Matthew smiled at his cheerful cousin and accepted his second glass of brandy that morning. It was the morning of his wedding, after all. Robert had expected he would be nervous, and had been absolutely right. Bates had patiently buttoned every single button of Matthew's body that morning, as his hands had trembled so violently from he moment his eyes opened that he couldn't manage even one. Fortunately, the alcohol was helping, otherwise all the wedding guests would think he suffered from a palsy in addition to paralysis.

"I'm happy to be of service to Mary, especially after all she's done for me," he responded sincerely.

"You're like a brother to her, Matthew," Robert continued. "Mary didn't even think twice about being there for you in your time of need."

Something inside Matthew recoiled at the notion of Mary viewing him as a brother, but he quickly forced himself to embrace the thought. It was better that way.

"And she is...very dear to me, as well. When she told me there was something I could do to help her...well, how could I refuse?"

It seemed like the appropriate thing to do was second Robert's assertion by responding that Mary was like a sister to him, but somehow the words wouldn't quite take form. They didn't feel right because they weren't true. His thoughts and feelings towards Mary had been anything but brotherly from the first moment he laid eyes on her.

For a long moment, the two men sat in companionable silence as Matthew fiddled with the shiny gold signet ring that only that morning had found a new home on the smallest finger of his right hand. A gift from Robert, it had been in the family for over two centuries, but hadn't been worn since Robert's grandfather. Matthew was proud to wear it. Somehow, marrying Mary made him feel even more a part of the family than he already was; it made him feel as though he had a right to inherit the title and the estate someday - a right to wear the Grantham crest on his hand.

A moment later, Carson entered, ending their moment of solitude.

"Milord, Lady Grantham has asked me to inform you that everyone is gathered in the drawing room, awaiting your lordship's and Captain Crawley's presence to go through to breakfast. She also mentioned that the bride should be on her way down very soon."

"Thank you, Carson," Lord Grantham answered as he rose to his feet. "Matthew, shall we?"

"Robert, if you don't mind, I would like to wait for Mary at the bottom of the stairs so that we can go in together," Matthew spoke as Robert assisted him in maneuvering out the door.

"An excellent idea, my boy. No doubt, your bride will be anxious to see you as you are to see her," Robert replied fondly, his smile growing at the though of the happiness this day was certain to bring two of the people he loved most in the world.

The wait for Mary's appearance seemed interminable to Matthew, though it was only a few short minutes. Several times, he was forced to wipe his slick palms on the fabric of his trousers. It wouldn't do to take Mary's hand with sweaty palms. When the click of a door closing above them echoed through the hall, he visibly started.

Then Mary appeared in his line of sight, and he felt as though his heart had lodged in his throat. He watched, transfixed by her loveliness, as she gracefully descended the stairs. Never in his life had he beheld such a vision of beauty as Mary - soon to be his wife - in her bridal finery, her dark tresses curled softly around her radiant face. It was an image he would treasure all his life.

As she made it to the landing and turned to descend the final few steps, Matthew tried desperately to think of a way to describe her beauty, to let her know just how incredible she appeared to him, but all words seemed inadequate. The poetry he had been so faithfully pursuing of late had all but abandoned him. He wracked his brain for the right words, but all his thoughts seemed to fall short of the mark.

"Mary, you are loveliness personified."

Matthew's mouth snapped shut as his cousin so effortless found the very words he had been searching so frantically, and uselessly, for. In leu of words, he reached out for her hand to help her down the final few steps, lifting it to his lips for a series of worshipful kisses that he hoped would convey the depth of his emotion.

The trio entered the dining room to a symphony of "ooh's and aah's" over Mary's wedding dress. She received glowing complements from all the female relations, and appreciative looks from all the males. The bride and groom took their places side by side at the head of the table, and Matthew instantly raised Mary's hand to his lips for another kiss. He had yet to actually say anything to her, but he tried to convey with his eyes the overflow that filled his heart.

"So, what do you think, Matthew? Does it meet with your approval?"

"What's that?" Matthew asked clumsily, taken off guard by Mary's unexpected question.

"My dress. Do you like it?" she tried again, an uncharacteristic tinge of uncertainty in her tone.

"The dress is lovely, of course," he began haltingly, "but, you...in the dress...have rendered me quite speechless."

Mary smiled demurely and turned her eyes back to the sumptuous breakfast Mrs. Patmore had prepared for the occasion. She was almost surprised when Matthew spoke again.

"You're so beautiful. I...I never imagined that _I _would ever have such a stunning bride, even before. Now...I hardly deserve such perfection. It seems a terrible waste..."

"Matthew," Mary hissed, cutting his absent-minded rant short. "Not today, Matthew. _Please_."

"Alright," he sheepishly acquiesced, surprised at her begging tone. "Forgive me. I... don't know why I was going on so."

The bride dipped her head prettily in acceptance of his apology, and both returned their attention to their plates. After a moment, Mary spoke again.

"I wanted to thank you for the bracelet and the flowers," she began. She wanted to mention the card to him, eventually, but decided that the breakfast table wasn't the place to do so.

The corners of Matthew's lips turn slightly upwards at her words, and looped one of his fingers through the delicate ring of smooth pearls that surrounded her slender wrist.

"I'm pleased that it goes well with your dress."

"I adore it. Thank you."

The soon-to-be-married couple shared a warm look before their attention was demanded by others, putting their private conversation to an end.

* * *

The wedding itself seemed to pass by in a blur to Matthew. He would, later, remember smiling at the sight of Mary's gloved hands clutching the flowers he had chosen for her, their significance known only to himself and his bride. She stood, tall and statuesque behind her gossamer veil, by his side as the minister read from _the Book of Common Prayer_ of the purpose and responsibilities of the married state - words Matthew had heard several times in his life, that now took on a whole new meaning for him. The image of his bride's celestial beauty was obscured, distorted even, by the unshed tears that filled his eyes as he vowed to "love and to cherish" her for all of his days. He _could_, and certainly would, do those things. He was certain that she would be the most loved and cherished woman in all of England, so great was his admiration and esteem for the incredible woman who had all but begged him to marry her, despite his shortcomings. If only he were even remotely worthy of her.

Standing by his side at the altar, Mary's mind was busy cataloguing every detail of the moment she had so longed for but thought would never happen. She would always cherish the image of him, her Matthew, sitting straight and proud in his chair, his face solemn as he listened to the minister's words. He looked handsome and polished in his formal attire and white bow tie, a single white rose peeking out of his button hole. When the time came for her to recite her vows to him, her voice rang out clear and strong. For most of her life, Mary had never expected to truly mean her vows; not in the way she meant them then, with Matthew, when her heart was behind every word.

There was scarcely a dry eye among those who knew the couple well - those who understood all the this wedding truly meant for them. Even the dignified Lord Grantham was forced to surreptitiously wipe an errant tear from his cheek, while his seemingly-unmovable mother (who had momentarily set aside her distaste at the sight of a servant being included in the wedding party) openly sniffed into her handkerchief as she clutched her free hand over her heart. Isobel thought she was holding up well, until, when they reached the point in the ceremony at which Matthew slipped Mary's left glove from her slender arm and placed the ring Isobel's mother had worn all her life on his bride's finger, her tears would no longer be contained.

Finally, the time came for Mary to kneel beside Matthew for the final prayer, throughout which she clasped her hands tightly together to try to halt their shaking. It was almost done. Only a few more moments, and he would be hers irrevocably. She rose gracefully to her feet once more as the minister closed the prayer, then placed her right hand in his, which he joined with Matthew's.

"_Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. For as much as Mary and Matthew have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a Ring, and by joining hands; I pronounce that they are Man and Wife, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."_

Mary hastily blinked away her joyful tears as the minister added his final blessing to their union. She didn't dare glance at Matthew for fear of losing her composure, but, had she done so, she would have seen him similarly affected.

Finally, their names were written side by side in the registry, as they should have been years ago, and it was done. Mary took her new husband's hand and walked slowly beside him as Bates pushed his chair back down the aisle and out into the sunlight.

* * *

**_A/N2:_**_ Hope you enjoyed it! Wedding scenes are always so tricky to pull off. I'm really glad that's over with. Phew! _

_Well, I guess I shouldn't relax too much until I see the reviews (pretty please!). ;) _

_About the flowers: Every source I looked at had slightly different meanings for each flower, and I'm not sure which would have been used back then. The white roses were the most tricky, so I just used the meaning that worked best for this story. So, if you know it to have a different meaning, please just humor me and suspend your disbelief. :)_

_Please check out my blog for pictures of Mary's wedding dress, as well as the pearl bracelet and antique ring Matthew gives her. I'll also post a link to a site that gives info on Edwardian weddings so that you can see where I got my facts for this chapter. britomart87 dot tumblr dot com_

_Thanks for reading! I'm sure you can guess what's up next. ;)_


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **It's finally wedding night time! The M-rating will finally be earned. ;)

Big, big, big thanks to Willa Dedalus for all the support and brilliant suggestions. Also, mega thanks to everyone who reviewed or commented on tumblr. All the feedback and encouragement helps. :D

* * *

_Chapter 26_

Matthew forced himself to breathe deeply and steadily as he studied his freshly-shaved face in the mirror Bates was holding for him, pleased that he had managed to cut himself only once. His hands trembled so violently, it was a wonder he hadn't taken his entire head off. Though his custom was to shave in the mornings, Bates had very discreetly suggested that, on this night, he might wish to make an exception. No matter how unconventional, it was still his wedding night.

A deep sigh escaped him as his thoughts wandered to his bride, presumably readying herself for bed in their new, shared room across the hall. He looked at the pretty, delicate bottles of various feminine accouterments placed next to his own utilitarian aftershave lotion and smiled.

"Ready?" Bates asked solicitously as he placed the mirror back on the countertop.

"As I'll ever be," Matthew answered. "I haven't heard Anna leave yet, so perhaps I'll give Lady Mary a few more minutes."

"Quite right, sir," Bates responded. "I'll take you to wait in your dressing room, if you like."

"Thank you, Bates. I believe that would be best."

After placing Matthew near the connecting door that would soon grant him access to his new bride, Bates withdrew to the hallway, allowing the nervous groom a few moments to himself. Matthew could hear the quiet voices of the ladies in the other room, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. Again, he wondered what expectations Mary had for this night. They hadn't discussed it, and he started to wonder if they should have done. She had agreed to stay with him, to share a bed with him, but hadn't specified what, besides sleep, she expected to happen once in that bed.

Matthew knew what he hoped for. He wanted to see her, touch her, hold her. He had dreamt of making love to Mary for years. Though he could never have that dream in its entirety, he wasn't so naive that he didn't understand that there were parts of it he could still enjoy...things they could still share. He knew, theoretically if not practically, that a woman could be brought to pleasure by touch just as a man could; he simply wasn't sure exactly how to go about it.

In his twenty-seven years, Matthew had engaged in intercourse with a woman exactly one time, and he would hardly count that single encounter as any kind of practical experience in matters of intimacy. He'd barely even touched the woman, and it was over nearly as soon as it had begun.

Growing up as the only child of an middle class doctor, Matthew's exposure to young women his age had been very limited. He'd taken the occasional peek inside his father's medical text books, giving him some basic knowledge of female anatomy, but he had never seen the real thing until his first year at university.

He had always thought his flirtations with the attractive, dark-haired secretary at the library's circulation desk completely innocent. She was at least ten years his senior, after all. He had been sure nothing would ever come of a few friendly conversations and pleasant smiles. Apparently, the woman in question hadn't shared this sentiment. Late one night, when he sat in a deserted corner of the library preparing for an examination, she had come very suddenly around the corner, a strange gleam in her dark eyes. Matthew made to stand and greet her, but instantly froze as she hiked up her skirt and slipped her undergarments off. Wasting no time, she placed herself on his lap, straddling him.

Matthew hadn't know what to do or think. He could only stare at her uncovered femininity as she ran her fingers through his hair and over his face and chest. He knew it was wrong, but his body betrayed him. By the time her hands had made their way to the front of his trousers, he had been fully aroused. Despite his half-hearted protests, the lady had quickly freed him from the restrictive fabric and was positioning herself over him. The tightness and heat of her had been too much for him, and his entire body had jerked erratically as he immediately spent himself.

That she was disappointed with the brevity of his performance had been evident. She had appeared so frustrated he had even apologized, though he hardly knew what he had been apologizing for.

Afterwards, fear and guilt had taken hold. He was terrified that he had gotten her with child and tormented with self-recrimination for allowing himself to be seduced into something he had been brought up to believe was a sin. Repeated nightmares of his mother's disappointed face and his deceased father's angry scowl had plagued him for weeks afterwards. His own mind punished him severely enough that he hadn't even so much as kissed another woman...until Mary.

His head jerked up as he heard a door click shut out in the hall, followed by Anna and Bates' voices as they bid each other a brief but affectionate goodnight. It was time. Mary would be waiting for him.

Swallowing his nerves, Matthew called for Bates to attend him before knocking lightly on the door.

"Come in," Mary's voice was heard from within, beckoning him to her side like a siren's call. Suddenly, his nerves fled in the face of his need to see Mary. Without hesitation, he turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside to make sure Mary was decent before allowing Bates to wheel him in.

Matthew's eyes moved around the room several times, but Mary was nowhere in sight. Confusion gripped him for a moment before he noticed the changing screen in the corner of the room. He assumed Mary had modestly hidden behind it while Bates situated him in bed.

The new bed was higher up than his old one, but Bates managed without much additional trouble.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes. Thank you, Bates. You may go," Matthew answered, hoping his voice sounded firm and normal.

With a respectful final offer of congratulations, Bates bowed and left the room.

Matthew eyed the changing screen warily, wondering when Mary would emerge. He had almost began to think she had escaped the room entirely when she stepped out into his line of vision, stunning him with her incomparable loveliness.

Mary had thought long and hard about what she ought to wear for their wedding night. They hadn't discussed it, so she was unsure of Matthew's expectations for the evening. He always seemed to enjoy the kisses and light caresses they had shared thus far; she hoped he would wish for a great deal more of them once they were wed. He had admitted to her, shortly after their engagement was formed, that he still desired her in a physical way, despite his inability to act on that desire. She had wanted to choose a nightgown that would please him if, indeed, it was his intention to partake in some amorous rights with her, but one that would not appear too presumptuous, or cause him to feel more inadequate than he already might, should he not.

The gown she had selected was constructed of flowing pale pink silk trimmed with cream lace. It had wide straps and a low neckline, exposing a good deal of her chest without being overly showy. She was pleased with her choice, confident that Matthew would find her appearance pleasing.

Matthew was in awe. The slinky silk of her gown clung to her legs and hips as she moved, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the trim curves underneath. The material fell only to her ankles, leaving her small feet bare for his inspection. Her hair was loose around her uncovered shoulders, framing her beautiful face perfectly. He could scarcely believe that she was _his wife_. It seemed impossible under any circumstances, and a terrible waste under the current ones. He felt as though his body was insulting her by not responding to her allure, but a closer consideration of his reaction proved such a conclusion inaccurate.

His body _was _responding. Perhaps not in the way it once would have, but respond it did. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest, excitement and desire causing his skin to heat, making him perspire under his pajama shirt. His hands trembled with a combination of nervousness and eagerness to become aquatinted with his comely wife's tantalizing form. He was fairly certain his jaw must me resting on his lap, but he couldn't seem to pick it back up.

"Hello," Mary breathed awkwardly, her face heating under her new husband's gaze.

"Mary, you look...incredible," he spoke sincerely. Reaching out a hand, he beckoned her to his side, enjoying each graceful movement of her body as she glided towards him.

Mary placed herself demurely on the edge of the bed beside Matthew. For several moments, they simply stared into each other's eyes, their hands joined between them, each trying to gauge the desires of the other. At last, Matthew gathered the courage to raise one hand to cup her flushed cheek, which he gently used to draw her towards him for a kiss.

Their lips met softly, teasingly, several times before Matthew drew back to look into his bride's eyes again.

"Mary...my wife," he spoke softy, each word pronounced with reverence and awe, "I know that this...that we can't have...a proper wedding night, but...there is one thing that would please me very much."

Mary smiled softly at his faltering speech, happy that there was something she could do to please him and thrilled that he would trust her enough to ask.

"What is it?" she asked eagerly.

"I would like..." he began, taking deep breaths to maintain his courage, "to see you...all of you. That is, if you're comfortable..."

"Alright," Mary answered tremulously, her heart beginning to race as she rose to her feet beside the bed.

If she were honest, Mary wasn't completely comfortable removing her nightgown in such a way with the lamp still on, but this was _Matthew_, her husband. She was determined to swallow her embarrassment and grant his every request, no matter how fiercely she might blush.

With trembling fingers, she slipped the silken straps from her shoulders, allowing the thin nightgown to fall from her body and pool at her feet. She squeezed her eyes closed as every surface of her naked skin flushed with heat. Fighting the urge to cover herself, she kept her hands still at her sides, breathing deeply in and out...in and out.

Matthew gasped audibly at the sight of her flawless form completely bare before him. Never had he even imagined such perfection. Every inch of her skin was smooth ivory, dotted with the occasional caramel-colored mole; each of her features was perfectly formed and proportioned. Tiny waist, rounded hips, long legs; and her breasts, their dusky tips hardening in the cool night air...He could only stare, transfixed and dumb in the face of such beauty.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Mary began to shift from foot to foot impatiently, waiting for him to say something. Gathering her courage, she opened her eyes to meet his. The fire behind his awed gaze made her insides warm deliciously. His eyes dropped from hers back to her body, and she was no longer embarrassed, but emboldened. Noting the location of his penetrating stare, she stepped closer and took his hand in hers, lifting it and placing it over her breast.

Matthew trembled and groaned at that first touch of her soft skin, like warm silk under his fingertips. Her hand continued to cover his on her breast as he tentatively lifted the other hand, wishing the trace the smooth curve of her hip. For a moment, he hesitated. She was a goddess before him, and he was so unworthy of her. He feared that his touch would defile and dishonor her. He didn't deserve this privilege.

Sensing his hesitation, Mary smiled encouragingly before leaning down to capture his lips. She threaded her fingers into his thick hair and allowed herself to kiss him as deeply as she pleased, thoughts of restraint but a distant memory. They were married now. He was _hers_, and she could taste and nibble his lips to her heart's content.

Mary shivered as Matthew's fingers ghosted across her side then drifted down over her hip, leaving gooseflesh wherever they traveled. All at once, his hesitation seemed to vanish, leaving only passion in its wake. His hands were everywhere, tracing the shape of her over and over. Feeling the chill of the air on her bare skin, Mary pulled back and asked,

"May I get in now?"

Matthew nodded emphatically, eager to hold her fully against him. He watched hungrily as she turned and moved around the bed, enjoying the way her bottom swayed as she walked. Every part of her was so perfect, so utterly desirable.

His fingers tore at the buttons of his pajama shirt, which was hastily flung aside. He craved her touch, the feel of her skin slipping against his. As she pulled aside the bedclothes and slipped in, he tried to turn his body, hooking one hand behind his knees to turn his legs as Mary had shown him.

Once in bed, Mary scooted close to him, reaching out to assist him in turning fully onto his side.

"Thank you, darling," Matthew whispered hoarsely as he wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her closer to him.

Their lips met in a heated kiss as they moved nearer to each other until their bare chests touched for the first time. Matthew gasped into her mouth as her soft breasts pressed against him. It was the stuff of all his fantasies, now real and warm in his arms. Her hands were pressed between them, tangling in the soft blonde curls on his lower belly. Soon, one of her hands snaked up and around his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him a bit further onto her. Her other hand moved over his back, shoulders, and arms, relishing the feel of hard muscles moving under his scar-dotted skin.

Hovering over her, Matthew parted her lips insistently with his own and slipped his tongue into her welcoming mouth, relishing this one way in which their bodies could be intimately joined. Mary sighed and suckled his tongue eagerly before stroking her own against it, reveling in his familiar taste.

After several minutes spent loving her mouth with his, Matthew's lips moved down her chin and over the expanse of her slender neck, nipping and sucking gently at her pale skin. His wife was making sweet, plaintive little whimpers and coos that showed him how aroused she was, how much she wanted him. His own imaginary arousal was in full force, tormenting him with the desire for a release he couldn't have. But he wanted Mary to have it. He wanted to make her feel wonderful.

His free hand stroked over the softness of her belly as his lips moved over her breasts. He placed several adoring kisses to her plump mounds before, on instinct, drawing one rosy nipple into his mouth, suckling gently.

Mary cried out in ecstasy at the feel of his hot mouth on her sensitive flesh. Her hands slid into his hair, gripping tightly as if to hold him in place. His teeth gently scraped against her, making her writhe in delicious agony under his ministrations.

"Does this please you, Mary?" Matthew whispered against her before placing more light kisses and a firm nip on the underside of her breast.

"Oh, God, yes!" Mary answered breathlessly, feeling as though she would expire of pleasure at any moment.

"I want to make you feel good," Matthew rasped in her ear as he nuzzled his face in the curve of her neck. "Show me how to touch you, Mary. I...I don't know how."

Mary's heart constricted at his tender admission. She couldn't claim to know much about his past experience where women were concerned, but it seemed that this night was a first for him in many ways.

Matthew's breath quickened in anticipation as her hand lightly gripped his where it rested on her belly, gently placing it between her thighs. They both gasped at that first touch. He could feel the tremble of Mary's hand as she maneuvered his, placing his index finger over the swollen bud of her sex. Tentatively, he stroked her, watching her face intently to ensure that he was pleasing her.

He felt a swell of masculine pride course through him when her back arched off the bed and she began to move her hips wantonly against his hand. He knew then that he was pleasing her, satisfying her. Perhaps not completely, but, at least, on some level.

Mary suddenly turned towards him with a groan, hooking her leg over his hip as her hand pushed his fingers deeper into her folds until his middle finger slipped inside her moist heat.

"Dear God," Matthew whimpered as he felt _her_. His entire body thrummed with arousal; the tightness in his groin was almost unbearable. But it wasn't real. It was only an illusion - a cruel trick of his subconscious mind that wouldn't accept what would never be.

Wanting to feel more of her against him, Matthew removed his hand from her sweetness for only a moment to move her leg higher so that it rested on his waist where he could feel its delicious weight resting on him. Understanding his desires, Mary tightened her hold on his waist and rocked her hips into him, demonstrating her desire for him.

With renewed confidence, Matthew slipped his finger inside her again... then added a second. Mary's reaction assured him of her enjoyment of his intimate touch. Rocking her hips against him, she set the rhythm that most pleased her, and Matthew matched it with his hand and with his tongue as he gently probed the inside of her mouth.

It was the most intimate thing he had ever done with a woman, far more intimate than an encounter with a near stranger that some would call intercourse. And it was _Mary_.

The rhythm of her hips became increasingly erratic. He could feel her grip on his fingers tightening...tensing...

"Oh, Matthew," she whimpered as she sobbed her release into his chest. "Aaahhh!"

He pressed tender kisses into her damp hair as she recovered, lightly stroking her smooth back and buttocks with one hand as the other arm cradled her against him.

"Did I...did I please you?" he asked, his hopeful tone sounding endearingly boyish and uncertain.

"Very much," Mary answered honestly, placing a series of kisses into the soft, damp curls on his chest. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_...for allowing me such a privilege."

Mary felt her body relax and her eyes grow heavy as she curled into him, drawing one of his heavy legs between hers, curling her toes into the warm skin beneath the hem of his pajama leg.

Sleep had almost claimed her when a shuddering breath escaped her husband's lips. A moment later, she felt moisture on her cheek. Tears.

"Matthew..."

"Hush," he interrupted her, his hands holding her still against his body. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Just...just go to sleep."

The trembling of his voice belied his words of reassurance, but Mary didn't want to press him. So, she simply tightened her arms around his waist and trailed more gentle kisses over his heart, allowing him to cry softly into her hair until, after several minutes, his breathing deepened and slowed. He had fallen asleep.

Only then did Mary allow her own tears to fall. Tears of love, of joy, and, yes, even grief. Matthew was everything to her. He had come so far from the broken man she had tended in the hospital a little over two months past, but his heart had yet to fully heal.

Her hand wandered down his back, slipping just under the waistband of his pajamas to stroke the puckered skin of his scar. Was it selfish of her to feel an almost affectionate tenderness towards it? She hated that it had hurt him, that because of the mark her fingers traced he had cried himself to sleep on their wedding night. But she could never fully regret the blow that had made him hers. God forgive her, but she couldn't regret it. His heart and his self-worth _would_ heal, in time. They _would _be happy together. She had to have faith in that, in them.

Before allowing herself to sleep, she whispered a soft prayer, her lips barely forming the simple words.

_"Thank you. Thank you, God...Please bless him. Just bless him."_

* * *

**A/N2:** Hope you enjoyed it! I had a brilliant time writing this chapter, even if I did shed a tear or two at the end. *sniff*_  
_

If you have a moment, I would love to know what you thought. :)


	27. Chapter 27

_**A/N: Hello again! **  
_

_**Before we get started, I just want to say a quick thank-you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. This week was crazy for me with the hurricane that passed through as well as other things, and it was either reply to reviews or write this chapter. I figured you all would rather I wrote this chapter. ;) In all seriousness, that you all so very much for your kind words. Each and every review means a lot to me. **_

_**I would also like to give a shout out to Willa Dedalus for her brilliant insight into Matthew's beautifully jaded mind. lol His POV is more of a challenge for me than Mary's is, so her help as proven invaluable. Thanks a bunch! **_

_**Just a little warning: this chapter isn't as lighthearted as the previous one. There are tender moments, but also some angst. Here you go!**_

* * *

_Chapter 27_

Matthew gasped softly as his body jerked and his eyes flew open. It was the usual dream, varying only slightly in the details each time it played through his unconscious mind. Sometimes there was William; sometimes Mary or Lavinia. Occasionally it would be raining or snowing. Quite often the rattle of machine gun fire was heard in the distance, accompanied by the screams of the wounded and the dying. But there was _always_ an explosion, and it was always too close. The vivid memory of the concussive force of the blast striking his chest like a giant sledgehammer had jolted him awake almost every night since his return to safety. His subconscious mind didn't seem to want to let it go, despite his conscious mind's fervent desire to forget it...to forget _everything. _

The usual residual panic that accompanied the nightmare was notably absent on this night because Matthew's thoughts were immediately diverted by the infinitely more interesting distraction of the sight and feel of his wife's unclothed body beside him.

Mary lay in blissful repose on her back, her relaxed face turned towards him, ebony hair strewn wildly over the pillow and her ivory skin. Through the curtain of her long hair he could just make out the delicate, rosy tips of her nipples as they peeked through the dark strands. His heart continued to race, but in a much more pleasant way. She was incredibly beautiful, and he was happy they had fallen asleep with the lamp on so that he could enjoy the vision she presented in the soft light.

Groaning quietly, Matthew shifted onto his back, flexing his left hand to allow blood flow to return to it. His eyes never left his wife's sleeping form, and, after a few minutes, he could no longer resist touching her in some way. He carefully lifted a few strands of hair from her creamy shoulder and twisted them between his fingers, relishing the small, but intimate, contact with her. He was her husband now. He was _allowed_ to touch her...in any way he wished.

He watched as his wife stirred, dark eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks as she awakened with an unladylike groan. He couldn't help smiling fondly as he waited for her eyes to open, hoping she would allow him to hold her again.

"What time is it?" Mary asked, her voice thick with sleep.

Matthew reached for his watch on the bedside table.

"Just after two. There are still plenty of nighttime hours left. Go back to sleep."

Mary groaned again and snuggled deeper into the covers as she scooted closer to her husband's side. Matthew reached out his left arm to pull her closer until her head rested on his chest. Both sighed in contentment and instantly relaxed.

"You're so warm," Mary murmured as her fingers lightly traced over the bare skin of his waist.

"Mmm...so are you," Matthew answered contentedly, relishing the feel of her skin against his.

"Why are you awake?" Mary asked softly after a few moments. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yes," Matthew answered honestly, "but seeing you here made it all better."

Mary smiled sleepily against him, happily reminded of the reason they had decided to sleep together in the first place. It was nice to know that she was of some comfort to him.

Warm and content in her new husband's arms, Mary soon drifted back into the land of nod, leaving Matthew in the company of his own thoughts, which, of course, centered around the intimate moment he had shared with his wife only hours past.

He had so enjoyed becoming acquainted with her lovely form, discovering all the secret places she liked to be touched and hearing the sweet little coos and whimpers she made while receiving pleasure - things no other man would ever have the privilege of knowing. She had even cried out his name...

Matthew wished he hadn't blemished their happy moment together by allowing his emotions to get the better of him. Mary probably didn't appreciate having to console a weeping husband on her wedding night. She was too good to put up with him.

He couldn't pinpoint one specific feeling or moment that had set him off. There had been so many reasons. For one, he was happy. Oh, so blissfully happy, he could weep again at the mere thought of it! For how many years had he dreamt of holding Mary like this? How often had he tried to imagine what her slim body looked like under her fashionable clothes? And she was so _good _to him... so tender, and so affectionate.

Mary shifted and sighed softly in his arms, nuzzling him gently in her sleep. She seemed happy to be in his arms, just as, earlier, she had seemed happy to receive his touch...to kiss him...touch him in return. And it had been _his_ name on her lips as she crested. Could she...? Did she...?

Dare he hope that she might be falling in love with him?

After all the years of longing and regret, dare he even dream that now, impotent, crippled, and broken in so many ways, she might come to love him as he had always wished she would? Tears welled in his eyes at the thought. That someone...that _Mary... _could come to love and to _want_ him even in his present state...if was too much. But, perhaps, it was possible. If _she_ could love and accept him as he was, maybe he could too. Contentment and real, unblemished happiness loomed just over the horizon, taunting him with its tempting offer of release from the demons that plagued him. If Mary loved him now...or came to love him soon, as he suspected she might...

But how could he possibly wish such a fate on one so dear to him? Loving him would only hurt Mary, for he couldn't give her the full and complete love she deserved in return. She could offer him the precious gift of her body and her heart, but he could only accept half of her, and he could only give her half of himself. Loving a broken man would break her. One day, her love would flicker and die like a flame in the wind, battered and assailed from all sides, but never fed. The long years would starve her love away, and then what would be left of her? of them?

He knew he had also wept for the ghosts of the children he had once dreamt of having: little boys and girls with lovely dark curls and ivory skin. Little specters condemned to live forever only inside his damaged and tormented mind, never to be given life in the waking world.

_Grief._ Crushing grief, for all that he had lost, closed in again, drowning the traitorous happiness that was always so fleeting and so elusive. He wanted to be a part of Mary, and she of him. To be _one flesh_, as the minister had spoken of at their wedding that morning. He could now call her his wife, but she _wasn't_. Not properly. She would never, never be truly _bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. _Whatever joy their lives together offered, and he knew there would be some, it would always be incomplete. He was incomplete. So would be every aspect of his life from then on. And now, so would Mary's also be. Half a life. Half a husband. Only partially happy; fractionally content.

But she was so _right_ for him. He needed her, and there were things he _could_ offer her. It was necessary to remind himself quite often that he was giving her Downton for life and that her reputation was now well on its way to complete recovery. Those were the things she had asked of him. She hadn't wanted him for a lover, not in the way he had wanted her. She had wanted him for security...because she trusted him. Trust wasn't terribly far from love. He could, and certainly would, be happy with that. For Mary. The rest of his life - everything he did and everything he still was - belonged to and was for her now. She was his purpose, his meaning, and his heart. She had given him a mission, a reason to _keep on_ when all he wanted to do was _stop_. Stop living. Stop hoping. Stop trying.

She was everything.

And she was naked, lying warm and asleep in his arms. If he lifted his right hand to his face, he could smell her intimate essence on his fingers. Her gentle breath tickled his neck with each soft exhalation. Her flawless, marble-like skin contrasted so beautifully with his own ruddier skin - a goddess in the arms of her mortal subject.

As long as he focused his mind on these things, Matthew felt at peace. When Mary woke in the morning, he would tell her how much he had enjoyed lying next to her, and how grateful he was that she had found him worthy enough to share her bed and her life. He would ask her if she liked the ruby ring that had been his grandmother's, and what she thought of the Grantham crest he now wore on his hand. If he were very lucky, she might even allow him to bring her to pleasure again. This time, he would ask her not to hide her face in his neck, but to look at him as she peaked. He wanted to see her eyes unfocussed with desire, and to know that it was he who had taken her there.

When sleep finally found Matthew, he dreamt of Mary. Behind her were white cliffs; before her, rolling waves. Her hands, that had only that night stroked his skin in passion, were bound in rusty chains to the cliff face on either side of her. How he wished to go to her! If he could but move his legs, he would run to her, enfold her in his arms and rend her bonds from the rock with his bare hands. But he couldn't move. He could only stare. Her wide brown eyes stared back at him, full of fire and strength and courage. Her eyes bolstered him; her indomitable spirit lifted his, and he was _standing_. Suddenly, the heavy chains that had bound his own body (_how had he not noticed them?_) were stripped away, and there was only her. Only them.

_Only us._

* * *

The sound of soft snoring close to her ear awakened Mary on her first day as a married woman. The happiness of waking with Matthew beside her caused her toes to curl and her lips to curve into a pleasant grin. She kept her eyes closed for a moment to savor the delicious warmth of him next to her, inhaling deeply of his familiar scent. At last, she allowed her lids to flutter open. Her smile widened as she admired Matthew's handsome face, so relaxed and utterly peaceful in sleep. She had seen him asleep many times, but this time he appeared somehow different... younger. More like the Matthew she'd known when he first came to Downton.

His lips were parted temptingly, and a lock of that wonderful golden hair had fallen over his eyes. Mary was sorely tempted to wake him with kisses, but she knew he desperately needed the rest. Nightmares had plagued him ever since his return from France, waking him at all hours of the night. He never complained, but she knew he often had trouble returning to sleep after such episodes. It warmed her heart to think that he had found some small measure of relief from his nightly torments in her presence. She hoped that, the longer they were married, the safer and more restful he would feel at night.

Matthew shifted slightly in his sleep as his stomach rumbled loudly. Mary had to bite back a giggle. Apparently, sleep wasn't Matthew's only need at the moment.

After carefully extricating herself from the covers, Mary padded around the bed to retrieve her nightgown, still lying on the floor where she had dropped it. She lifted it over her head and, for a moment, her view of Matthew's sleeping form was obscured by the rose-colored silk. When she emerged from the cascade of fabric, her eyes instantly locked with her husband's, which were now open and watching her intently.

"Good morning," she smiled, happy that he was awake despite her concern that he should rest.

"Morning," Matthew responded sleepily as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

Mary licked her lips as she watched him stretch and rub his eyes with the back of his hand. His hair was wildly mussed, sticking up in every imaginable direction; his lean muscles moved subtly under his sleep-flushed skin. In short, he looked positively divine.

Unable to resist, Mary moved to stand beside him so that she could smooth his hair, her fingers gently separating each tangle. A little gasp escaped her as Matthew's hands began to trace the shape of her hips and thighs over the slick material of her nightgown. Her own hands moved to either side of his face, cupping his rough, shadowed jaw in her palms. Their eyes met for a heated moment before their lips came together, parting almost instantly as the kiss grew in passion.

Too soon, they were interrupted by the insistent rumble of Matthew's empty stomach.

Mary giggled at his look of shocked embarrassment, kissing his parted lips once more before pulling away to retrieve her dressing gown.

"It seems I'd better ring for some breakfast," she spoke teasingly as she pulled the cream-colored silk about her, securing it with a neat bow at her waist.

"Yes, it does appear that way," Matthew readily agreed as his body's demands once again made themselves audibly known.

Mary grinned cheekily at him as she handed him his pajama shirt, which she had managed to discover lying in a corner. She watched him pull it on and fasten the buttons before making her way across the room to ring for their breakfast.

After a leisurely repast in their new bed, they decided to rise and enjoy the lovely day out of doors. Matthew's happy expression briefly wavered as he pondered how very differently this day would have been spent were he able to make love to his wife. He would have kept her in bed with him all day, insisting that she remain unclothed and in his arms. He fought the sad ruminations back, however, not wanting to risk another weeping episode like the one that had closed their wedding night. Mary deserved perfect happiness on her first day as a new bride, and he would ensure that she had it.

After dressing, the newlywed couple set about their first day of matrimony in very much the same manner as they had always passed their days. Only, it was different somehow. _They_ were different.

Every look, every touch, was intensified by the new intimacy they had forged the previous night. Their eyes often met in silent communication, sharing the most delicious of secrets while the family chattered away around them, oblivious to the fact that Matthew was remembering the shape and size of his wife's pretty navel as he watched her smooth the front of her dress with her gloved hands - hands that had tugged at his hair and pressed into his back as he'd pleasured her...

Despite his conviction that falling in love with him wouldn't be good for Mary, Matthew found himself doing everything he could to encourage her in that direction. He flirted, then smiled, in what he hoped was a charming manner, when she flirted back. He read love poetry to her as they soaked up the sun's rays, lightly stroked her thigh under the table at dinner, and daringly winked at her from across the drawing room when he thought nobody was looking. Unfortunately, Robert _was_ looking, but the older man merely blushed and turned the other way.

Before retiring for the night, Matthew had Bates help him into the bathtub. Mary, of course, entered to assist him in washing his hair, but Matthew soon found that he wasn't content with her doing so from beside the tub. He captured one of her hands in his, bringing it to his lips to press several light kisses to her palm and the sensitive underside of her wrist as he tugged her closer.

"Matthew," Mary protested breathlessly, "if you pull any harder, I shall end up in the bathtub with you."

"That's the idea," he replied with an impish grin before giving her arm another gentle tug. She was his wife now, and he would have her in his bath with him if he pleased.

"Matthew Crawley! My dress!"

Mary tried, again, to pull her hand free, but Matthew only held her more securely.

"At least allow me to undress," she uttered with an air of false resignation, though excitement warmed her entire body at the thought of getting in with him.

She disrobed as quickly as she could, happy that her newer dinner dresses possessed simple, loose cuts that didn't require a corset. When, at last, she rolled her second stocking down her leg and added it to the heap of elegant clothing on the marble countertop, Matthew held out his hands to help her step into the tub. Mary gently pushed his knees apart so that she could rest between his open legs, her back pressed against his slick chest.

Mary couldn't help moaning in bliss at the first press of his fully-nude body against hers. Without thinking, she stroked his thighs with her open palms, noticing sadly that the muscles there were smaller, less developed, than they had been when she'd first wiped the dirt and grime of war from his unconscious form.

Matthew buried his face in her coiled hair, trying not to look at what her hands were doing or to wish too desperately that he could feel her touch. He distracted himself by exploring every inch of silky skin within his reach, relishing the way his wet hands glided effortlessly over her. He stroked over her nipples, and she arched back against him, exposing her long neck for his kisses.

Need pooled deep in Mary's belly, making her desperate for the intimate joining of her husband's mouth with hers. With a groan, she turned in his arms, gripping the edge of the tub for support as she placed a knee on either side of his hips so that she was facing him fully. His arms went around her, pulling her body flush against his. Lips met; tongues dueled heatedly as hands roamed and grasped at heated skin.

Without even considering what she was doing, Mary instinctively undulated against him, grinding her hips against his in a slow, steady rhythm. Seeking the delicious heat of _him_, she pressed closer...feeling him against her. It didn't matter that he wasn't...that he couldn't... All she wanted was the closeness, the knowledge that it was _Matthew's_ body against hers. Her mind wasn't functioning clearly. All she could think of was her craving for him and how good it still felt to be _so close_.

They were forced to break apart for air, and Matthew made the mistake of looking down between their bodies. He had only wanted to look at his wife, to watch the soapy droplets of water trace intricate patterns over her ivory skin, but what he saw instead was her body pressed intimately against his own lifeless one. He felt utterly humiliated. And it was his own damned fault for encouraging this, for deliberately making her want something he couldn't offer her. He was a thoughtless, useless fool.

"What's the matter?" Mary's voice was filled with concern. He had stiffened so suddenly beneath her that she had ceased her ministrations to his delectable neck to discover what troubled him. The distant, almost hopeless, expression on his face frightened her.

_No, no, no! Please, God, not this! Not now! _

"Perhaps we should get out now," she spoke resolutely, employing the authoritative tone she found most effective in warding off a meltdown. "The water's turning cold."

"Quite right," Matthew answered sternly, still visibly troubled, but no longer at the breaking point.

Mary rose carefully from the tub, noticing with concern how Matthew hastily covered himself with a washcloth as soon as she turned. He had never done that, even before they were engaged. He didn't look at her as she silently dried herself and dressed. He simply pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, waiting patiently as he could for Mary to summon Bates and leave.

That night, Mary asked Matthew to simply hold her as they fell asleep. She didn't want what happened in the bathtub to drive a wedge between them, neither did she wish to speak of it and risk causing a meltdown when it was late and they both needed rest. It was so difficult, lately, to know what she should and shouldn't do and say around Matthew. Sometimes demonstrating her desire for him seemed to please him; that night, it had, instead, disturbed him. Anything she said at that moment had the potential to backfire. She was hesitant to tell him things he wasn't ready to hear, but how else could she hope to console him? If was terribly frustrating, not knowing what to do in this instance when she usually understood Matthew's needs so well. Perhaps, after a good night's rest, she would know what to do about his insecurities. For the time being, she wished only to lie next to him and try to get some sleep.

Matthew complied with her desires, not wishing to discuss it any more than she did, though he still felt awful about what had occurred.

The worst part of it was he had imagined himself aroused - had _felt_ aroused - by her closeness, but when he looked down...nothing. It was humiliating and dreadfully confusing.

As he lay still, holding Mary loosely in his arms as he tried to find repose, he wondered if he should consult with Clarkson again about these phantom stirrings he felt. They seemed to grow more intense with each intimate moment shared with Mary, and he wondered...

The nightmares were back in full force that night, but Mary was there to hold him and to gently stroke his hair as he trembled in the dark. When his terror abated, his heart was flooded with gratefulness for his sweet wife. She was such a blessing to him, and he wanted to show her just how much he appreciated her. So, he pleasured her with his hands again, her cries of bliss sharp and piercing in the darkness. Again, he wondered. He recalled Mary's request that they send to London for a back specialist to offer a second opinion, and he _wondered._ Could he withstand the false hope in order to ensure he did all he could to please Mary? to give them a chance at a full life together? He wasn't sure if he could, but, for Mary, he was determined to try.

* * *

**_Well, the wheels are turning inside Matthew's pretty head now. He's beginning to think more about Mary's feelings for him in a way that he can somewhat handle at this point, and he's thinking about having that specialist in for a visit. I'd say things are progressing rather nicely_ for our dear boy. :)**

**I'd love to hear your thoughts on Matthew's little growing pains as he tries to adjust to married life and accept Mary's love and desire for him. A little teaser for the next chapter: our couple will begin learning more about the running of the estate together and Matthew will receive a special birthday gift from Robert. Stay tuned! **


	28. Chapter 28

**_A/N:_ **First, I want to say a big thank-you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Once again, I didn't get a chance to reply personally to reviews, but I am truly grateful for each and every one. As always, thanks to Willa Dedalus for her input, especially with my characterization of Isabel and Robert in this chapter. :)

* * *

_Chapter 28_

Both Mary and Matthew remained mostly silent at breakfast the next morning. Matthew was frustrated with himself for, once again, allowing doubt to creep into his mind and sully the precious joy of his union with Mary. He was determined to revisit the topic of a back specialist with her at some point that day, though he was filled with trepidation at the very thought of allowing himself, or Mary, any hope at all. If it were only his own spirits at stake, he wouldn't think so much of it, but Mary's hopes were set to be dashed as well if things didn't (and he was almost certain that they wouldn't) go as they would wish. Already, he was dragging her down with him, and his heart ached with remorse at the thought.

He took her hand under the table, as he so often did, and gave it a gentle squeeze. She rewarded him with a small smile and returned the pressure, feeling her own spirits rise at the contact.

Mary Crawley didn't often second-guess herself. She wasn't much prone to self-doubt. But, after the bathtub incident the previous evening, she wasn't entirely sure she knew what to do to relieve Matthew of his insecurities. She was fairly certain that he was embarrassed about his body and...that it no longer functioned as it should. Only that morning, he had asked her to have Bates assist with his more intimate needs, waiting for her to leave the room before he would disrobe. He had never done so before. Since the morning she had first bathed him in the hospital, he had never seemed shy or embarrassed, accepting her assistance with the quiet dignity she had always admired in him. But now...

How was she to go about showing him that his perceived deficiencies really didn't matter to her at all? She'd thought that was what she was doing the previous evening, but that hadn't worked. He liked when she responded to his touch; she could easily see that. But, how was she to tell him that, in her eyes, he wasn't broken or less of a man? that every part of him was beautiful to her? She had never been a very articulate person to begin with, and she had to be _so careful_ what she said to Matthew. Now, more than ever, she feared any mention of her feelings would set him off. Only two days after their wedding, he was already withdrawing from her. She wouldn't - couldn't - do anything that might make him wish to withdraw further.

He was her husband and could no longer send her away from him; that was true. But the beautiful, yet fragile, intimacy they had forged as a married couple was too precious to risk. She resolved that, until Matthew had healed enough to accept himself for how he was now, his lower half would be strictly off limits to her touch. Neither could she speak of her feelings, not yet. If he couldn't handle her naked body pressed against his, how could he bear to know all that was inside her heart? If she told him of her love, would he even believe her? She couldn't bear to have the precious moment when she gave voice, for the first time in her adult life, to her deepest and most personal feelings tainted by doubt and disbelief. And she would be utterly destroyed if her sentiments weren't returned.

Mary had been tremendously relieved when her father offered to go over some estate matters with them both just after breakfast. Matthew had immediately brightened at the prospect of being useful, as he always did, and she was eager to take this step into their new lives together. They spent the morning productively pouring over ledger books and discussing tenant and harvest issues with Robert. The loss of so many young men to the war made for a shortage of farm labor, which impacted all those he was responsible for. Matthew felt the full weight of what it meant to be heir to Downton for, perhaps, the first time, and he was quietly glad that he would always have Mary by his side. He couldn't imagine ever shouldering so much weighty responsibility alone. They would help each other. They were partners. That was what their relationship was always meant to be, and he felt relieved to have things put back into perspective.

Around midday, Robert suggested they spend some time out of doors. There wouldn't be many warm, dry days left, and it would be a shame to waste any of them. Both Mary and Matthew agreed heartily, and, after collecting Robert's retriever, Isis, the four of them made their way out the front door. A smiling Isobel joined them just as they exited, wishing to see for herself how the newlyweds fared.

And, in truth, she needed some occupation. Lady Grantham had done all she could to push her out again, and she was beginning to wonder why she had come at all. Her son was an excellent reason, though she wasn't so daft as to think that he needed her. Mary was a wonderful companion for him, and, now, a devoted wife. Matthew had left his mother and would now _cleave to his wife,_ as he should. Still, Isobel had cared for him and loved him for his whole life. Letting go - feeling useless - wasn't easy, but she knew she had to accept it. His future was with Mary, and it was better that way. That certainly didn't mean that she wouldn't keep an eye on them from time to time, ensuring, for her own peace of hind, that they were happy and contented in their new life together.

The group walked, Mary pushing Matthew's chair, for several minutes in light conversation, speaking only of the beauty of the autumn day and other inconsequential matters until they were well out of hearing range of the officers who congregated in several groups on the lawn. Robert discovered a stray cricket ball in the bushes, and tossed it for Isis to retrieve. To everyone's surprise, she brought it back to Matthew instead of her master, and this began a merry game of fetch that soon had all four laughing and cheering for Isis each time Matthew threw the ball further.

Mary, Isobel, and Robert were, all three, thrilled to see Matthew smiling and laughing so genuinely as he interacted with Isis. No one was more relieved than Mary to see his mood thus lifted. Being disabled had taught Matthew to take pleasure in such small things. Isis' approval and failure to notice that he couldn't stand seemed to please him very much, as well as the fact that he could do something that made her happy in throwing the ball for her. Mary took this lesson to heart, reminding herself that things between them needn't always be so complex - that she could relax and allow them to enjoy simply being together.

Noticing Mary's pensive look, Isobel suggested that they walk on together.

"So, how is married life treating the two of you so far?" she asked when they were a small distance from the distracted men.

"Wonderfully," Mary answered with her usual too-bright smile, but Isobel could still detect a hint of doubt behind her new daughter's cheerful tone.

"Are you certain?" she asked directly, startling Mary with her unexpected candor.

Mary felt her facade slip a little more.

"Of course, I'm certain. I can't think what you mean."

"Mary, dear," Isobel spoke, taking Mary's elbow in her hand to stop their progress as the conversation turned serious, "I can clearly see that something is troubling you. Come on, then. Out with it."

Seeing Mary's hesitation, she added, "allow an old woman the pleasure of serving as confidant to the only daughter she'll ever have."

With a groan, Mary surrendered, feeling tears pool in her eyes as she voiced her worries.

"I'm afraid that I can't make Matthew happy."

Her voice wavered on the last words, and she was forced to fight for her composure.

Isobel tried not to let her surprise show on her face. That certainly wasn't what she would have expected Mary to say.

"You mustn't worry," Isobel encouraged. "I firmly believe that, if anybody can make Matthew happy, it's you, dear."

"But what if I can't?" Mary responded pitifully, her strong facade all but crumbled. "What if I can never make him believe that _I'm happy? _What if he never accepts my feelings for him?"

At Isobel's gentle, but insistent, prodding, Mary offered a brief overview of her reasons for feeling thus, excepting the more intimate details. The older woman listened patiently, feeling a small surge of satisfaction and pride that her son could still inspire such strong feelings in his young wife. She had raised a fine man; of that she had no doubt.

Isobel waited until Mary had finished before speaking.

"Mary, I'm going to give you one word I want you to remember in all your dealings with Matthew, and that is 'consistency.'"

She looked over at Mary to confirm the younger woman's understanding, and was answered with a prim nod.

"Let me explain," she began after a moment's pause. "Matthew was always an affectionate child, wishing to be constantly petted and cuddled. Reginald and I gladly indulged him. After all, he was our only child. And he was such a sweet boy. He still is."

At this, Mary nodded emphatically, agreeing whole-heartedly with Isobel's statement. She remembered how sweet and affectionate Matthew had been on their wedding night and on the previous day, and she smiled.

"Even as a grown man, Matthew always came to me for a kiss before he left for work in the morning, a kiss when he returned home, and yet another kiss before bedtime."

Isobel was smiling fondly as she spoke, lost in her memories.

"He almost operated on a schedule. I could predict down to the minute when he would require another kiss or a pat on the hand. But that, in no way, meant that his need for affection was born of duty or obligation. Matthew requires _consistent_ affection and attention...to know for certain that he is always loved and valued by those he cares for. Do you take my meaning?"

"I believe so," Mary answered, finding herself hanging on her mother-in-law's every word. Anything that might help her overcome her recent uncertainty would be a godsend.

"No matter how he withdraws," Isobel began again, "_you_, my dear, must remain constant in your displays of affection. You may not feel ready to express your love verbally at this time, and I agree with you that Matthew may not be ready to hear it, but if you consistently _show_ him your love...I promise you, he'll feel it. The rest will come with time."

"Thank you, Isobel," Mary spoke sincerely, feeling blessedly encouraged. "I assure you, I'll take your words to heart. I'd do anything...anything at all...to make Matthew happy."

"I know you would, my dear," Isobel responded, looping her arm through Mary's and steering them back in the direction of the men. "Now, if Matthew has never minded being kissed by his mother in public, how much more do you think he'd enjoy the same from his wife?"

* * *

Matthew smilingly praised Isis for her efforts, and rewarded her by vigorously scratching her ears. He chuckled softly as she flounced over to Robert next, seeking her master's approval.

"Well, my boy, how are things going so far?" Robert asked a moment later as he stooped to give Isis a good pat.

As Robert's eyes were determinately fixed on his very pleased dog, he didn't see Matthew's smile fade into a pensive gaze as he looked out over the peaceful grounds.

"Things are..." he paused to find the right words, berating himself, yet again, for being an ungrateful, sentimental fool. "Things are going...as well as can be expected, I suppose."

Seeing his father-in-law's concerned expression, Matthew quickly added, "Mary is a delight. I couldn't ask for a better wife, under any circumstances."

Relieved that Matthew had released him from any obligation to question the progress of their new marriage further, Robert simply expressed his approval and turned his attention back to Isis.

After a moment's silence, Matthew began again.

"Actually, Robert, there is something I'd like you to help me arrange."

"Oh?" Robert asked, returning his attention to his new son-in-law. "You know you can ask me for anything, my dear boy. What is it?"

"Thank you," Matthew responded, taking a deep breath before beginning again. "It's just that...several weeks ago, Mary mentioned to me that I might consider seeing a doctor who specializes in spinal injuries. Not that I have any reason to believe that there's hope, but...I just feel like I should try everything possible...for her sake."

"An excellent idea," Robert enthused, moving to stand directly beside Matthew. "I don't know why I never thought of it myself. I'll speak with Clarkson first thing tomorrow about locating someone and scheduling the appointment."

"Thank you so much, Robert. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"If it can be arranged, I'll have the specialist come here for the examination...to spare you the unpleasantness of travel."

"That would be preferable. I cannot thank you enough, Robert."

"Matthew, my son, you really must stop thanking me!" Robert responded feelingly, placing a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "You know I'd do anything to secure your happiness...and Mary's. In fact, we should have done this earlier."

Both men looked up as the ladies approached. Matthew grinned up at Mary, her answering smile filling him with warmth.

"Better late than never," Robert murmured just before the ladies reached them, ending their private conversation.

Matthew's smile widened as his wife placed a hand on his unoccupied shoulder and stooped to gently kiss his cheek. He blushed to think that both his mother and Robert had witnessed her display of affection, as his heart soared at the tender attention.

When Mary straightened, he took her hand in his, and the group began to make their way back towards the house. Robert volunteered to push Matthew's wheelchair so that the newlywed couple could walk side by side, their joined hands swinging between them.

* * *

"Your birthday's in two days," Mary casually observed as she slipped into bed beside Matthew that night.

"Yes," he answered with a dismissive shrug.

"I've already got you one small present, but since I'm your wife now, I can do more. Anything in particular you want?"

_I want to be a father. I want to make love to you. I want to dance with you in my arms. _

"Nothing in particular."

There was a moment's pause as Mary helped him turn to face her.

"You don't need to get me anything," Matthew continued as he stroked her soft hair back from her face. "You do far too much for me as it is."

"I happen to disagree," Mary answered tartly, arching one perfectly-shaped brow. "If you won't give me any hints, I'll just have to guess at what you might like. If you end up with something you neither desired nor care for, you have no one to blame but yourself."

Matthew chuckled and wrapped one arm around Mary's waist, pulling her closer.

"Actually, I asked your father this morning for the only thing I really want...at least, the only thing I want that I can realistically ask far."

"Oh?"

"I've decided that I'm ready to see a specialist," Matthew explained absently. His attention was focused on tugging loose the ribbon that held the neckline of Mary's nightgown closed. It gave way, and he slipped his hand underneath the silken material to lightly stroke her breast.

"Mmmm," Mary hummed softly in pleasure, her mind fighting to process the important information he had just divulged through a fog of sensation. "Darling, I can't think properly with you doing that," she purred.

Matthew chuckled darkly at her obvious delight in his touch and leaned down to cover her mouth with his. They could talk more in the morning.

* * *

Feeling deliciously light-hearted and optimistic after discussing plans for the specialist's visit with Matthew, Mary entrusted her husband to his mother's care for the morning while she went into town to shop for his birthday. She returned home with several wrapped packages beside her on the car seat, eager to return to Matthew's side. Though she had been gone only a few hours, she missed him terribly.

She found him in the game room, engrossed in a bout of chess with another officer while Isobel watched. Recalling her mother-in-law's advice the previous day, she greeted him with a light kiss on the cheek. Isobel had certainly been right about the effect of showing him affection in front of others. He positively beamed. She stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, as he proceeded to decidedly trounce the other officer at their game, offering him a brief kiss on the mouth as his prize.

Matthew was surprised that he could be so happy. Mary's affection made him feel special and wanted. She looked lovely in her red traveling suit, and he hadn't missed the envious stares of the other officers in the room. He was immeasurably proud that she was his.

After thanking the other man for the game and accepting a parting kiss from Isobel, Matthew suggested to his wife that they take tea together. He selected a book to read to her, Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream, _and they ensconced themselves comfortably in the private section of the library for the afternoon. They had been thus occupied for a little over an hour when Robert entered, holding a small white and butterscotch colored puppy in his arms.

"Who have you got there, Robert?" Matthew answered with a grin.

"Somebody who would like to meet you," the older man answered, offering the pup to Matthew who quickly placed his book face down on the table beside him to free his hands.

"A Welsh Corgi," Matthew observed as he stroked the little dog's soft fur. "I had one of these as a boy. Wonderful dogs. What's his name?"

"That's up to you, my boy," Robert answered with a smug grin. "He's yours."

Matthew eyes grew wide.

"Mine?"

"Happy birthday, my son," Robert spoke proudly, giving Matthew a firm pat on the shoulder. "It is a day early, but I saw no reason to delay introducing you two. I noticed how much you enjoyed playing with Isis yesterday, and recalled that one of my tenants had a litter available. A man needs a dog of his own."

"Thank you, Robert. He's a fine pup." Matthew chuckled softly as the handsome puppy repeatedly licked his hands.

"Papa, didn't you think it might be prudent to discuss things with me before actually getting Matthew a dog?" Mary interjected, feeling inexplicably irritated. Matthew had seemed to greatly enjoy interacting with Isis. She should be glad of anything that lifted his spirits these days, yet, for some reason, her father's gift bothered her. It seemed a big decision for him to make without her consent. Or, perhaps, she was only frustrated that she hadn't thought of it herself. The books, pajamas, and cuff links she had purchased for Matthew would certainly pale in comparison.

"What shall we call him, Mary?" Matthew asked, his obvious delight in his gift drawing a small smile from her, despite her pique.

"Whatever you like, darling."

Mary sighed as she watched Matthew and her father play with Puck, as he decided to call the pup, on the lawn for the next hour.

Suddenly, she realized why she hadn't been terribly enthusiastic about her father's gift to Matthew: she was jealous of a silly dog that was taking her husband's attention away from her. They had only been wed for three days, and, already, she felt like an old toy placed on the shelf in favor of a newer one.

It was ridiculous, really. The pup made Matthew happy. Why shouldn't she be happy for him? Mary groaned, disgusted with herself. Had she always been so selfish? Had anything she'd ever done for Matthew - things he so appreciated and was so endearingly grateful to her for - been done with purely selfless motives? Or had she only done them as a means to an end? because she wanted Matthew for her own? because she wanted him indebted to her? Well, now she had him, and, for the first time, she paused to truly ponder if marrying her had been the best thing for _him_.

She had seen an opportunity to grab at something she wanted, and had stopped at nothing short of _lying_ to Matthew to acquire it. All those weeks before their wedding, she had told herself it wasn't a lie, but, realistically, that's exactly what it was. For the first time, she saw her actions in an entirely different light, and she hated what she saw.

It was uncanny, really, how something as simple as the gift of a dog could make her suddenly see herself with such painful clarity. Unable to contain her emotions, Mary rose to return inside. She needed a moment alone to compose herself. As he was engrossed in watching Puck interact with Isis, she hardly expected Matthew to notice her absence.

* * *

**_A/N2:_ **_Hope you enjoyed it! _

_For the record, I don't actually think that Mary dedicated her time and energy to Matthew (in canon or this story) purely out of selfish motives, though that point could certainly be argued. I actually think that, though the marriage was her idea, Mary would be the one who has the most difficulty adjusting afterwards. Now that she's accomplished her goal, she's starting to think seriously about how she accomplished it, and I don't think she would like to think that she manipulated Matthew into giving her what she wanted. But that's exactly what she did. She and Matthew both truly love each other, but they each have a lot to learn about what true love means. These are things they'll discover together. _

_As far as the pacing of the story, I know there have been a couple requests that I hurry things along. I do understand that point of view, but I'm trying to do more here than simply tell a story. I want to go inside the heads of these marvelous characters and explore their feelings and motivations if thrown into a different situation than we see them in on the show. In order to do that, I have to maintain this slow-ish pace. Things are happening, though. The specialist will arrive next chapter. The climax of the story isn't actually all that far away. All these little details and feelings are building towards it. I promise it will all come together if you patiently stick with me. :)_

_Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, I would love to see your input. :D_


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29_

Despite his recent woes, Matthew had a very happy twenty-eighth birthday. It began with breakfast in bed with Mary, followed a few hours later by a picnic lunch on the lawn, complete with a croquet game (which, he discovered, he could still play rather decently), and topped off with a wonderful dinner of all his favorites, including a magnificent chocolate cake for desert. In addition to his new friend, Puck, who's playful antics gave him several hours of enjoyment, his mother had set aside the entire day to spend with him and Mary. He received many gifts from the family, and couldn't help but be touched by their thoughtfulness. Mary gifted him a set of engraved cuff links that he thought were very smart, as well as several books (all of which were exactly to his taste), and a set of pajamas. He was sure he wouldn't have selected pink stripes for himself, but, if Mary had taken a fancy to them, he would certainly wear them for her.

Several days later, Robert announced over breakfast that Clarkson had located and been in touch with a specialist who was willing to travel from London to examine Matthew. The war had placed many demands on the man's time, so it would be almost a fortnight before he was available. Both Mary and Matthew were disappointed to have to wait so long, but there was nothing to be done for it. Matthew suspected that, if it hadn't been the Earl of Grantham asking for such a favor, the wait would have been even longer.

When the excitement of the wedding and his birthday wore off, Matthew began to perceive that Mary wasn't in her usual good spirits. Sometimes she seemed pensive, almost despondent at other times. She always made sure to shower him with affection, which he greatly appreciated, but there was often a hesitation in her touch that worried him. Something was troubling his new wife, and he dearly hoped, though he was by no means convinced, that her discontent didn't stem from his lack of ability as a husband.

The thought was deeply troubling. More than anything, he wanted to make Mary happy. Despite his better judgement, he had been clinging to the hope that she might be falling in love with him. It seemed as though that hope might soon be completely dashed.

Deciding he would need to redouble his efforts to keep her satisfied, he reached for her eagerly as she slipped into bed one night, his hands tugging persistently at her nightgown before she had even settled herself.

Mary was concerned by the unusual desperation she sensed in his touch.

"Matthew..." she began, but his lips cut her off before she could voice her thoughts.

Soon, his hands were on her skin and she could no longer think clearly enough to question his strange aggression. What he was doing felt too good, too heavenly, and her mind shut down as her desires raged to the surface.

"Oh...oh, darling!" gasped as she reached her peak under his firm touch. Not giving her a chance to recover, Matthew continued to pump his fingers in and out of her sweet warmth, and, soon, she was writhing deliriously beneath his touch, sobbing out her second release.

Love and longing squeezed Matthew's heart like a vice as he watched the ecstasy play over his wife's face. He wished to see that blissful expression often, but feared that she wouldn't always be satisfied with the touch of his fingers alone. And he so _desperately _wanted her to be happy. He hated seeing her face downcast, and would do anything - anything at all - to please her. But there was so very little he _could_ do.

Biting his lip against the emotion that roiled within him, he rested his head on Mary's heaving chest, closing his eyes in torturous contentment as her hands made their way into his hair.

"Mary," he spoke after a moment of listening to her labored breathing beside his ear.

"Mmm?" she hummed.

"I'm very happy that we're married," he spoke softly, almost shyly. It was a childish trick, he admitted to himself. Of course, she had no choice but to say it back or risk hurting his feelings. Mary was too good - too kind - to him to ever intentionally risk hurting him, and he so desperately needed to hear those wonderful words of acceptance and contentment from her lips.

"I'm happy, too," Mary breathed.

* * *

The next week brought the first of the winter's chill, forcing the newlyweds to remain indoors for most of their days. Mary struggled, still, with the guilt that had plagued her since she began questioning her own motives, and the forced confinement certainly didn't help. Despite it all, she still found joy in Matthew company, his caresses, and his embrace. They spent most of their time learning about the estate or sitting in the library, Matthew reading aloud from one of the books Mary had gifted him, Puck curled up contentedly on his lap.

Matthew was a darling, wonderful husband. Mary grew more assured of his merit every day. He had even seemed to notice that his preoccupation with his new dog had made her feel left out, and had made a clear effort to ensure that she was never ignored. He had been so very gracious about her ungraciousness. She was so far from deserving of him; the ache of it was nearly a physical thing.

The past week had brought other changes as well. Matthew had asked her to cut back on her nursing duties, saying he wished her only to be a wife to him, not a nursemaid. She had argued, of course, her need to be useful to him as strong as it always had been. Then she recalled her struggles of the past days and decided to acquiesce. Once again, she was behaving selfishly. His needs were not so very great now that Bates alone couldn't handle them, and Matthew was becoming more independent each day.

She winced at the instantaneous twinge inside her chest at the thought of Matthew gaining some independence, then once more at the guilt that followed. It was wrong for her to feel thus. She should be happy that he was becoming stronger and more capable. That was what he wanted. She began to feel like a poor excuse for a wife, and the feeling made her want to hide away. But she _couldn't_. Matthew needed her, and she needed him. It was an impossible dilemma. She couldn't escape her feelings, neither could she confront them. She could only continue, each day, striving to follow Isobel's advice, showing Matthew her love by remaining constant in her devotion, despite her own inner turmoil. It was the least she could do after the ways she'd failed him.

Then there was the issue of their marriage bed. Mary could imagine nothing so blissful as the feel of his hands on her...except, perhaps, being able to give him pleasure in return. The first several nights had been heaven, but the repeated episodes of taking but giving nothing back were beginning to wear on her, and, she suspected, on Matthew also. She did find little ways to give him pleasure: scratching her nails along his back and arms as he fell asleep, running her fingers through his hair, even gently teasing his flat, masculine nipples was pleasing to him. But it all seemed to pale in comparison to the bliss he could give her.

When she thought about it, it was quite strange the way things had turned out. Matthew, by all logic, should be the one feeling inadequate, unable to give to his partner; Mary felt it was quite the reverse. She understood what he must feel - what it must be like to feel _impotent_. Useless. Again, he was far better and worthier than she, yet he reaped none of the reward for his goodness. The entire situation was completely unfair, and she felt it most keenly.

The hope of the specialist's visit offered a small consolation. With any luck, there would be some kind of procedure or treatment Clarkson hadn't been informed of that might give Matthew a chance at (at least partial) recovery. She would cling to that hope in her dark moments, using it to give her the strength to remain constant for Matthew. Always _for Matthew._

* * *

At last, the long-awaited day arrived. As soon as breakfast was eaten, Mary, Matthew, Robert, and Isobel made their way to the library to await the arrival of Clarkson and the specialist. Branson had already left with the motor to collect them from the hospital. All they could do was wait.

And wait they did. The expected guests were over a half-hour past their time.

"Do forgive our tardiness," Dr. Clarkson spoke upon entering the room. "Sir John's train was delayed."

Introductions were made, though pleasantries were abbreviated due to the new doctor's impatience. Sir John Coates was a short, slightly paunchy little man with a shining, bald forehead and spectacles that continually slipped down his large nose.

"You will forgive me, Lord Grantham, but I must insist we proceed with haste. I have an appointment back in London this afternoon, and need to be finished in time to catch the train," Sir John spoke up in a commanding voice that seemed at odds with his small stature.

"Of course," Robert responded, motioning towards the door.

Mary started to take the handles of Matthew's chair, but he gently stopped her, expressing a desire to wheel himself. She relented, though it was frustrating not to have something useful to do. Her hands were kept firmly at her sides to hide their trembling. She couldn't help thinking that, in only a few minutes' time, they might have some solid hope to cling to...or an end to all talk of hope from that day onward.

When they reached Matthew's dressing room, which housed the small hospital bed he had slept in before their marriage, Bates entered to assist Matthew in undressing and getting into bed. Mary found it incredibly hard to stand aside as the efficient valet assisted her husband, but she knew Matthew wouldn't appreciate her pushing in, especially with both Clarkson and Sir John in the room.

As if her very thoughts had drawn his attention, Sir John suddenly turned his beady, bespectacled eyes in her direction and spoke impatiently,

"I'm terribly sorry, Lady Mary, but I must ask you to wait outside."

Both Dr. Clarkson and Matthew looked uncomfortable, knowing Mary's protective nature as they both did. Managing to keep her cool for the moment, Mary politely responded,

"You'll have to forgive me, Sir John, if I wish to remain with my husband."

The little doctor gaped at her, momentarily dumbfounded.

"A...a _woman_? in the examination room? Absolutely not!"

"Uh...If I may interject," Clarkson cut in. "Lady Mary is a capable and competent nurse. I've borne witness to the fact myself. She took charge of Captain Crawley almost the very moment he arrived at the hospital."

"Thank you," Mary spoke sharply, surprised by Clarkson's praise, though he was, most likely, simply trying to smooth the situation over, already having been witness to her stubborn and determined nature.

"Perhaps that is how _you_ operate in your _country_ hospital, Dr. Clarkson, but _I_ do not allow untrained women in the room during _my_ examinations!" Sir John's face grew almost comically red as his voice increased in volume with each syllable.

Mary started at the soft touch of Matthew's hand on her wrist.

"Mary, perhaps you ought to do as Sir John says," he admonished gently.

"You heard your husband, young woman," the obnoxious doctor interjected. "I would ask you once more to leave my examination room, at once!"

"And _I_ will tell you _once more_ that I will _not_ be sent away!" Mary shot back, her temper dangerously close to boiling over. Forcing herself to remain collected, she carefully fixed her mask of calm disinterest back in place. When she spoke again, her voice was perfectly regulated.

"You may as well get on with it, for you won't get me out of this room."

The little doctor muttered a string of complaints under his breath, but seemed to relent for the moment. He placed his bag on the side table and removed a few items, arranging them neatly on a small tray.

Once Matthew was dressed in only his underthings, Bates began the task of lifting him into bed. Her patience with standing aside at an end, Mary placed her arms under his knees to assist with his legs. Once Matthew was settled, Mary placed just the sheet over his lower half, allowing him a modicum of dignity. Bates excused himself, and, as he exited, Isobel entered the room.

"Well now, what can I do to help?" she asked cheerfully. Her smile faded as Sir John turned his thunderous expression in her direction.

"_Another _woman! Dr. Clarkson, this is not to be borne! Please, get her out."

Drawing herself up to her full hight, Isobel fixed the indignant little man with her most resolute stare and responded,

"Sir John, I would have you know that, not only am I Captain Crawley's mother, I am also a trained and experienced nurse. I assure you, I have every right to be in this room, and I intend to stay."

Matthew groaned and covered his face with his hands. The small room was beginning to feel intolerably crowded.

"Mother, please..."

"If you don't need my help, I promise to stand aside, but I am determined to be here for my son," Isobel continued, ignoring Matthew's quiet plea.

Sir John removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, mumbling an inarticulate series of curses under his breath.

"Very well, Mrs. Crawley. You may stand in the corner and observe, if it pleases you. I've got to get a move on with this examination, or I'll miss my train."

"Thank you," Isobel replied with a satisfied nod, keeping her feet firmly planted where she stood beside Dr. Clarkson.

Mary stood at the head of Matthew's bed and watched nervously as Sir John assisted him in turning onto his side, facing away from him, before squatting beside the bed. Matthew lifted his undershirt while the doctor pushed the sheet down and drew the waistband of Matthew's underpants aside enough to expose the red, puckered skin of his scar.

"Uh-huh," the doctor breathed absently as he began prodding the lower part of the area with his fleshy fingertips. Slowly, he made his way higher, until, when he reached the upper part of the scarred area, Matthew flinched and groaned at the sudden pain. Mary immediately reached for the hand that rested on his pillow, squeezing it comfortingly.

Thinking that Matthew might be better able to relax if they had some conversation, Isobel asked Sir John which hospital he worked for.

"St. Thomas' in London," he answered proudly.

"I believe you were associated with a hospital in Manchester during the early part of your career. Am I correct, Sir John? Captain and Mrs. Crawley are originally from Manchester," Clarkson spoke up.

"Yes, that's right," Sir John answered, much less proudly than before.

"Did you, perhaps, know my father, Dr. Reginald Crawley?" Matthew asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Not well, as we worked in different areas of the hospital, but we did speak from time to time," Sir John explained absently as he removed a small book from his coat pocket and jotted down a few notes.

"Well, young man," the doctor continued, his clinical tone in place, "it seems you've fractured your two lowest lumbar vertebrae. The shifting of the bone most likely pinched a nerve, cutting off all communication between your brain and the inferior region of your body."

"Is it possible that the damage could be repaired with therapy or, perhaps, surgery?" Isobel cut in eagerly, stepping forward despite her promise to stand back.

"Mrs. Crawley, I'll thank you to hold your questions for the time being. I haven't the time to discuss this with you. My time is valuable and limited. I will communicate my findings to Dr. Clarkson only. He may attempt to answer your questions later. If there is something he is unable to handle on his own, he is perfectly welcome to write to me back in London."

Isobel was somewhat less than pleased with this answer, but the weary sigh coming from the direction of Matthew's bed made her think better of pressing the issue further.

At that point, Sir John instructed Matthew to turn onto his back for the remainder of the exam. After removing the sheet completely, he took a long look at Matthew's legs before scribbling in his notebook again.

"Significant muscular atrophy in the legs," he mumbled as he wrote.

"What does that mean?" Mary asked, concerned by the ominous sound of the foreign word.

"Lady Mary, I'll thank you to remain silent for the remainder of this examination," he snapped. "Questions can be addressed to Dr. Clarkson later."

Mary gritted her teeth in frustration. She looked down at Matthew when she felt him squeeze her hand. He was looking pleadingly up at her, his eyes silently begging her to control herself for his sake. She offered him a small, reassuring smile before turning her eyes back towards Sir John.

The remainder of the exam consisted of the doctor priding various points on Matthew's legs and feet with a needle before sitting him up in bed, legs dangling over the edge, and hitting his knees with a small hammer. All the doctor's observations were scribbled down in his notebook.

When it appeared the appointment was nearing an end, Matthew gathered his courage to ask the one question that pressed upon his curious mind most at the moment.

"Sir John, before you go, I was hoping you could tell me a bit about what my father was like at work. I never saw him at the hospital, you see, and I..."

"Dr. Clarkson, would you mind having the car brought around. I need to be off at once," Sir John interrupted as he turned to place the various instruments he'd used back in his bag.

Matthew's smile fell a little at the interruption, but he remained hopeful that an answer to his query might yet be forthcoming. But, when Dr. Clarkson opened the door to order the car, Puck scurried into the room. Alarmed by the sight of a stranger standing so near his master, the little dog began barking as fiercely as he could, though his bark was little more than a high-pitched yip.

"Who let this dog in here?" Sir John fumed, his face turning an angry shade of red. "Vile, unsanitary creature."

The doctor shoved Puck rather roughly aside with his foot, and Mary saw Matthew's mouth drop open in surprise as his eyes widened with concern. Horrified that the man would treat Matthew's dog so horribly, Mary ran around the bed and, for the first time, scooped Puck up in her arms, holding him protectively to her chest as she fixed Sir John with her most withering glare.

"How dare you treat a defenseless pup like that!" she spoke firmly, barely able to moderate the volume of her voice. "Now, you answer my husband's question about his father! He deserves at least that after all he's been put through, and I will not allow you to leave until you do!"

"_What_ question about his father?" Sir John shot back in exasperation, frowning intensely back at Mary.

Just then, Clarkson re-entered.

"The car is ready for you, Sir John."

"Excuse me." With that, Sir John pushed by Mary, his shoulder actually brushing hers as he passed.

Mary was aghast. She huffed angrily as she contemplated storming after the horrid little doctor and demanding he return and answer Matthew's question. But Matthew shouldn't be left alone, anxious and stressed as he was, and Isobel had already gone after Sir John. Feeling confident she could trust Isobel to handle the situation, Mary turned back towards Matthew.

He was chuckling wearily to himself, scrubbing his face repeatedly with his hands.

"What a marathon," he sighed wearily, finally opening his eyes and looking in her direction.

"Is Puck alright?" he asked.

"I believe so," Mary answered tensely.

"Darling, I think you might be smothering him."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Mary realized she was squeezing the little fellow rather tightly, but he seemed content enough. She gently placed him on Matthew's lap before seating herself beside them. After a few moments, Matthew chuckled again.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking... what fierce protectors I have here."

Mary had to laugh at that, though she did have the grace to blush at the memory of her rather unladylike conduct.

"A couple of paper tigers, I'm afraid." She placed a hand gently on Puck's back, lightly stroking his soft fur.

"Nonsense," Matthew responded, reaching up to gently caress the side of her neck. "You're a formidable woman, Mary Crawley. You get it from your Granny."

Mary smiled lovingly up at him, leaning her cheek into his tender caress. Suddenly, Matthew pulled her to him, engaging her mouth in a deep, sensuous kiss - a kiss that told of passion but also of desperation.

"Mary," Matthew began when he broke away for air, "don't you think...when Mother was asking Sir John about possible treatments...Don't you think that, if there was no hope...if my spine was...permanently damaged...don't you think he would have simply said so and been on his way?"

Unsure how to respond, for she wasn't quite sure she agreed with his logic, but was loathe to crush his hopes just yet, Mary simply smiled at him and leaned in for another soft kiss. They broke apart when Isobel bustled back into the room.

"Upon my word, that man is positively odious. I could ring his pudgy little neck!" she huffed, moving to stand closer to the bed.

"He was speaking briefly with Dr. Clarkson when I left them," she continued after a moment. "When Robert heard that Sir John was planning to leave without giving us any information at all, he ordered Branson not to move the car an inch until he gave us _something_. Sir John was adamant he speak with Dr. Clarkson and no one else, but he's briefing him on the situation now. With any luck, we'll know at least part of the prognosis in a few minutes."

Matthew's heart constricted as he pondered how truly blessed he was to have such valiant supporters. They all made him feel so loved and cared for at a time when it was most desperately needed.

He hated that he now required so many people to fight this battle for him when he had once been a capable leader and soldier himself. All that seemed like another lifetime ago. He wasn't _Captain Crawley_ anymore. That man had been strong and brave and _whole_; had carried fallen comrades on his shoulders and bravely run headlong into a volley of machine gun fire to take the next few inches of precious ground. And that man had died on the battlefield of Amiens. Now, he was a broken shell of what he once was, needing to be lifted and carried and cared for like a small child. But all the serving and caring was done with such a kind spirit by those close to him that he couldn't possibly resent it, however much he wished it wasn't necessary.

"I can't thank you all enough for being so wonderful to me," he began, his voice wavering with emotion. "I must remember to thank Robert. You're all so...incredible."

Several tears escaped and dripped down onto his cheeks.

"Oh, darling," Mary soothed gently, gripping his shoulder comfortingly. "You're exhausted. It's been a long day."

"There now, my boy," Isobel spoke in her best mothering tone as she leaned down to place a light kiss on the top of his head. "All is well. Don't fret."

His mother's tenderness was the last straw; Matthew's chin dropped to his chest as he broke down and wept. Mary's arms were immediately around him, and he held onto her as though she were his rock in the midst of a storm. Isobel simply patted his back for a moment before handing him her handkerchief and encouraging him to compose himself.

"Dr. Clarkson and Robert will be back any moment, dear," she admonished gently.

Matthew dried his eyes and forced his emotions and memories to recede. He truly was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to rest his head on the pillow and sleep. But there was still the specialist's prognosis to be heard, and maybe - just maybe - he would soon have a brighter future to look forward to.

* * *

_To quote Matthew, "what a marathon!" Phew! That chapter made me feel exhausted and weepy as Matthew is. Clarkson says his piece next time. :)_

_I'm sure this chapter will get lost in all the excitement for the new series starting! I'm about to burst out of my skin, myself. It's finally here!_

_But, if you do read this humble offering of mine, I would very much appreciate your thoughts. ;)_


	30. Chapter 30

_Chapter 30_

"How are you holding up?"

Mary closed the dressing room door behind Puck, who trotted happily off behind her father, before returning to Matthew's side, seating herself on the edge of the small bed and taking his hand in hers.

"Fine," he answered simply, again withdrawing into the quiet, pensive mood he'd been in since Clarkson had given them the news.

There hadn't been any long, drawn out discussion or lengthy explanation. Clarkson had simply stated that Sir John had nothing further to add to the original prognosis and that he was sorry. Mary had almost laughed at that. After all they had gone through to get the specialist there, then having to endure that terribly uncomfortable examination, they were no better off than they had been months ago at the hospital.

No, they were, she reminded herself. They belonged to each other now. Surely that counted for something, even to Matthew. She squeezed his hand tighter, rubbing the back of it soothingly with her thumb.

"Would you like to sleep now?" she spoke softly.

"I'm not sure if I can."

"What can I do?" Mary asked sadly, squeezing his fingers again.

"Perhaps, you might read to me for a while."

Mary nodded eagerly at his idea, happy that there was something she could do for him that might distract his mind long enough for him to ease into much-needed slumber. She walked over to a small, wall-mounted shelf that housed the few favorite books Matthew had brought over with him and removed several volumes, placing them in Matthew's hands for him to choose the one he wanted her to read.

A wave of happiness washed over her entire body as he smiled - a real, happy, dimpled smile - and handed her a brightly-colored, obviously well-loved, book with drawings of exotic animals on the cover.

"Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling," she read. "A children's story book?"

"I've had it since I was a small boy," Matthew explained. "Even now, I still pick it up from time to time. Here..." He took the book from her hands, flipping it open to a dog-eared page smudged on the edges with dirty fingerprints. "This is my favorite one."

Mary took the book from his hands and pulled the chair in the corner closer to the bed before seating herself comfortably.

"_The Cat That Walked By Himself'_."

She glanced up at Matthew again, seeing his eager, expectant eyes fixed on her face. After a moment, she began.

"_...But the wildest of all the wild animals was the Cat. He walked by himself, and all places were alike to him."_

"As a child," Matthew mused after Mary had finished the tale, "I always pitied that cat. He seemed...lonely. And the worst part of it was...he _chose _to be lonely. He didn't have to be."

"Why do you think that was? Why would anyone chose to be lonely?"

"I suppose...he's different from the other animals, somehow. He doesn't feel that he belongs."

"Perhaps he doesn't see his own value. He remains aloof to spare himself the pain of rejection, but...He was only trying to help, but the man chased him away. I... do think the cat wishes to be cared for. He doesn't realize...what he has to offer is valuable to others."

Matthew stared at Mary in surprise. She had never offered so much of an opinion on the things they'd read together before, and she spoke with an almost haunted, preoccupied look that worried him.

"Come here," he beckoned, stretching out his arm to hold her against his side as she curled up, as best she could, next to him. She had to lay half on top of him, but he didn't mind. He stroked his hand along her upper arm comfortingly and placed soft kisses on her hair.

"You never need to doubt your worth, Mary," he whispered.

Mary laughed darkly at the realization that he thought she had been comparing the cat to _herself_. Oh, how endearingly blind her Matthew could be!

"Just because I..." he continued falteringly. "Just because I asked you to pull back from your nursing duties...that doesn't mean you don't have value to me any more. Just...you..._being you_. Who you are. That's what's important to me. Not anything you can do...or can't do. Just...you."

Turning more on her side so that she was hovering over him, Mary gently stroked the side of his face with the backs of her fingers.

"You know I feel that way about you too, right?" she asked softly.

She watched sadly as his eyes filled with tears, which he valiantly tried to contain.

"Of course," he answered hoarsely.

"The things...that you can't do...That's not what matters to me. We're more than that."

"Yes," Matthew answered, trying to recall the reasons they were together...the real reasons. The ones that mattered now. "We'll always have Downton and our partnership. We make a good team. Don't we, Mary?"

"A very good team," she answered indulgently. "We may not always see exactly eye to eye, but we rather complement each other, I should think."

Matthew smiled sadly up at her and captured her hand, bringing to to his lips for several reverent kisses. He looked pensive for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft and wistful.

"Can you imagine what it would have been like? if we had been married...before?"

"Oh, Matthew," Mary cautioned, worried about the direction the conversation was taking.

"The little spark between us when we touch... and when we kiss...Can you imagine if it caught fire? If the glowing ember of passion that remains for us could be stoked into a consuming flame?"

"Darling, you've been reading too much poetry," Mary responded with a sad shake of her head. "Either that or you desperately need to rest."

"Of course, you're probably right," Matthew answered as a lone tear fell from the corner of his eye. "But, you know, Mary...when I thought of my hopes for today...for any hope the specialist might have given me...all I could think about was how much I want to make love to you, and for us to have children together, and to dance together...to do things _real_ married couples do."

"But we _are_ a real married couple," Mary protested, pushing up on her elbow so that she could see his face better.

"No, we're not," Matthew shot back, his lower lip beginning to quiver. "We _can't_ be. We can't ever be."

For the first time in weeks, a full-blown meltdown was upon them. Matthew had withdrawn into himself, hardly acknowledging Mary's presence as she tried desperately to calm him. She suddenly hated that she'd ever suggested bringing in a specialist. The disappointment had caused a setback in Matthew's emotional recovery that she could only feel responsible for.

Suddenly, he began pounding his upper thighs repeatedly with his fists and crying,

"Please feel something! Please! _Please_!"

"Matthew, stop. _Stop this now_!"

It took her entire body weight to pin his hands by his sides. Even then, he could easily have dislodged her were he of a mind to, but it seemed that the worst had passed. His eyes rolled back, then closed; his breaths slowed and deepened. He appeared to have lost consciousness**.**

A knock on the door startled Mary, but she kept her focus on Matthew.

"Is everything alright, milady? Captain Crawley?" Carson's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Everything is fine, Carson," Mary called, not taking her eyes off Matthew's drawn face.

"Very good, milady," he spoke briefly before his footfalls were heard moving away down the hall.

Mary finally sank down into the chair beside the bed, feeling exhausted but relieved that Matthew had finally worn himself out enough to fall asleep. She might have dropped off herself had a knock on the door not startled her out of her lethargy.

The door opened to reveal her father, his brow furrowed with concern.

Motioning for him to remain quiet, Mary stood and made her way towards Robert, slipping out into the hall and closing the door behind her.

"Carson told you?" she asked.

"Yes. He said he heard raised voices," Robert explained. "Is Matthew...?"

"Oh, Papa, it was terrible," Mary groaned, rubbing her tense forehead with her fingers until she left a red mark.

"He's asleep now?"

"Yes. Thank God."

"You look like you could use a rest too," Robert spoke kindly, placing a comforting hand on Mary's shoulder. "Why don't you go and lie down. I'll sit with Matthew for a while."

"No," Mary instantly responded, "I appreciate the offer, but he needs _me_."

She knew it was terrible of her to feel as she did, but a small surge of pleasure welled up inside her as she spoke the words.

"I'll just...nap in the chair," she continued, turning to re-enter the room. "But do have Bates wake us in time for dinner. I'm not sure if Matthew will feel up to eating in the dining room, but he should, at least, have something."

"I will, Mary," Robert responded, his eyes sad as he looked down at his lovely daughter, her sweet face creased with little worry lines. If only there was something he could do.

After accepting a gentle kiss on the cheek from her concerned father, Mary trudged back to her chair and dropped into it, falling, almost instantly, asleep.

* * *

After waking from their naps, Mary had Bates move Matthew into their bedroom, deciding they would forgo dinner with the family and take their meal in bed. She changed quickly into her nightgown, trying to ignore Matthew's intense stare as she removed each piece of her clothing, before crawling in beside him to make sure he ate a little. Fortunately, he didn't give her much trouble. His appetite seemed fairly normal, despite his earlier difficulty.

When they had finished, she rose and set their trays out in the hall before walking over to his side of the bed.

"What is it?" Matthew asked.

"I think you may have hurt yourself earlier. Would you let me see?"

Seeing that little furrow appear between his brows, she continued,

"Do you remember any of what happened...earlier?"

He slowly nodded his head.

"I need to see if you require any attention. That's all."

She touched his hand gently, her eyes imploring him to trust her as he once had.

"Alright," he relented, lifting himself as much as he could be bracing his hands behind him as Mary tugged down the waistband of his pajama trousers.

She cringed when she saw several large, purple bruises blossoming on his hip and upper thighs where he'd struck himself. At least he couldn't feel them.

"If these don't look better tomorrow morning, we'll have to put ice on them," she spoke gently, tracing her fingers over the worst of the swelling.

On impulse, she leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on the darkened skin, causing Matthew to inhale sharply. She trailed kisses over each bruise as she felt his fingers tangle in her hair. Heat pooled between her thighs as she breathed in his intimate scent.

"God, Mary," he breathed when she rose. His eyes were dark and intense as he watched her closely. "I could almost imagine how that felt... your lips..." He reached up and placed two of his fingers on her mouth, feeling their softness and the warmth of her breath.

Mary sighed, eyes closing in pleasure, as she drew one of his fingers into her mouth, suckling it gently. A sharp moan escaped Matthew's lips, encouraging her to love each of his fingers in turn, dipping her tongue teasingly into the spaces between them as he groaned in pleasure.

Matthew righted his trousers, but allowed Mary to remove his pajama shirt, as they settled beside each other, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Mary was extremely responsive to his touch that night, even more so than usual, and it boosted his confidence somewhat. Mary was a naturally passionate woman, but it was flattering, nonetheless.

After he had pleasured her, she trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses all over his upper body - down the trail of soft curls that disappeared into his waistband and up over his chest, shoulders, and arms. She dipped her hot tongue into the inner curve of his elbow, sending a wave of pure sensation throughout his entire body.

"Oh, Mary," he rasped, nearly panting from the pleasure of her lips and tongue on his skin. "Oh, darling, how wonderful that feels."

"What can I do for you, Matthew? What would give you pleasure? Ask something of me. Anything." She placed several loving kisses over the scars on his chest and shoulder as she awaited his answer.

"Anything?" Matthew repeated, his mind suddenly filled with possibilities. He couldn't have the thing he wanted most, but having Mary entirely at his disposal was certainly an appealing position.

"Anything," Mary agreed.

A few minutes later, Mary found herself lying naked with her head at the foot of the bed, her feet resting on her husband's bare chest, as she read Browning's love poetry aloud to him.

"_Can it be right to give what I can give?_

_To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears_

_As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years_

_Re-sighing on my lips renunciative_

_Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live_

_For all thy adjurations..._Matthew, stop!"

Mary giggled and squirmed as he nibbled her smallest toe, finding reading nearly impossible as his touch was distractingly ticklish.

"You said you'd do anything I wanted," Matthew retorted with a mischievous grin. "Now, read."

Mary groaned and held the book aloft again, blushing scarlet as she caught his lustful stare under the edge of the page. Still, she had said _anything_, and she'd meant it. And she was glad - however surprised - that such a hellish day could end so delightfully. Matthew had suffered a terrible meltdown, but she had been with him through it, and, now, she was doing something he had asked her to do to bring him pleasure. Matthew was really very easy to please. All he asked was that she read love poetry to him and let him hold her feet. Simple. And she loved him even more dearly for it.

Returning her eyes to the page before her, she finished the poem, trying not to let his stroking hands distract her from her purpose.

"_O my fears,_

_That this can scarce be right! We are not peers,_

_So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,_

_That givers of such gifts as mine are, must_

_Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!_

_I will not soil thy purple with my dust,_

_Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,_

_Nor give thee any love-which were unjust._

_Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass."_

* * *

Matthew stared out over the grounds the next morning, watching as Mary strolled arm in arm with her father down the gravel road in front of the Abbey. He admired the way her hips swayed gracefully as the wind blew her skirt around her long legs. She was so very, very lovely. The memory of her uncovered form spread out before him the previous night filled his mind, and he gripped the arm rests of his chair until his knuckles turned white. He had told Robert, before he accepted Mary's proposal, that he feared his desire for her would eventually drive him mad; he was beginning to worry that he had been right.

Then he recalled the sweetness of her response to his touch and her generous request that he ask something of her. She had wanted to give him pleasure, and she had. And, that very morning, she had rubbed salve on his bruises, kissing each one as she had done the previous evening. He had seen that her touch was gentle and soothing, though he couldn't feel it. And when her father had entered the library where they were engaged in a game of chess and asked to have a moment alone with her, she had given him a light kiss on the cheek and a sweet smile before she left.

There were still so many good things. They were still partners. They would never be parents, but Matthew had begun to think of Downton as their child - something they would pour themselves into and work for, together. Mary seemed to glow from the inside whenever they spoke of their future and all the improvements they would work towards. He could take comfort from that - from her apparent contentment - and make it his own.

He watched the graceful curve of her neck as she turned towards her father, but the troubled expression on her lovely face worried him. She released Robert's arm and strode a few paces away from him, her eyes accusatory as she spoke forcefully. Matthew couldn't make out what she was saying, but he could catch just enough of her fierce tone to know that her voice was raised. And she was crying. He watched in agony as she roughly scrubbed the falling tears from her dampened cheeks with the back of her hand before stomping away from her father, visibly shaken.

Matthew had started wheeling himself towards the door to go to his distraught wife when Robert entered, his face pinched and creased with concern.

"Matthew, stay a moment. I need to have a word."

"Can it wait, Robert? Mary's upset. I should go to her."

"Yes. That's what I need to speak with you about," Robert continued. "I had hoped that Mary would be the one to break the news to you, but she's taken it rather harder than I would have expected."

"What news?" Matthew asked, his apprehension growing with each word Robert spoke.

"There's an officer here who goes by the name of Patrick Gordon."

"Yes. What about him?" Matthew asked when Robert paused to collect himself.

"He was caught in an explosion, which rendered his face almost completely unrecognizable."

There was a long silence while Robert fumbled about in his head for the right words, but there was no good way to say what he needed to. As much as he hated the necessity, he owed it to Downton and to his family heritage to investigate the possibility that Matthew may no longer be the heir to his legacy.

"This man, Patrick Gordon...claims to be Patrick _Crawley_...and my rightful heir."

* * *

_Only a couple of angsty chapters to go, guys, so hang in there! _

_Huge thanks to Willa Dedalus who put up with me through a 40 email conversation to get this chapter finished. _

_Thanks for reading! If you have a minute, I'd love to know what you thought. :)_


	31. Chapter 31

_Chapter 31_

Mary was in a state of stunned disbelief. She was furious with her father for actually giving any credence, even for one second, to the ridiculous notion that the impostor who claimed to be Patrick actually _was_ Patrick. It was absurd. Above all, it was unfair. After all that Matthew had suffered - all he would still suffer - this would be a cruel blow indeed.

She couldn't imagine why her father was so adamant that they needed to look into the matter. There was no way to prove anything; he would only succeed in setting Matthew's progress back that much more. Coming right on the heels of the disappointment of the specialist's visit and the meltdown that followed, it was a doubly cruel blow.

Though she was fairly certain that the interloper would soon be exposed for what he was, Mary's logical mind did spare a fleeting concern for what would become of her and Matthew if the man was assumed to be Patrick Crawley. They could stay on at Downton until her father died, but what then? She also had to admit that, while her primary motive in marrying Matthew was her desire to be with him, she had been pleased with the prospect of gaining what she had always seen as her rightful inheritance. There was no point in denying that. She didn't like being uncertain about their future, however much she might wish she could be less practical about the situation.

_Nothing is certain yet, _she reminded herself. She had seen the man who claimed to be her long-lost cousin on two or three occasions over the previous days since he'd arrived, and hadn't experienced even the faintest spark of recognition. Even scarred and bandaged like a living mummy as he was, surely she would recognize someone she had known for so many years. No, she was absolutely certain. The man was an intruder and a liar -a cuckoo invading her nest - and she wasn't going to stand for it. Not for a moment.

After roughly drying her angry tears with her handkerchief, she stormed back into the house, intent on having a few more words with her father. He had asked her to be the one to break the news to Matthew, and she had soundly refused. She could only hope that he hadn't yet done the job himself. If she had her way, Matthew would never know anything about this ridiculous farce. There was no real need to tell him until something was proven, and she was certain nothing ever would be.

She was surprised when, as she passed the library door, Matthew came nearly flying out, wheeling himself faster than she'd ever seen before. He barely missed mowing her over. She released a little exclamation of surprise and jumped out of the way. Matthew looked slightly embarrassed, but mostly troubled.

"I...um..." he stammered, his eyes fixed on the lace of her blouse so that he wouldn't have to look her in the eye. "Excuse me."

With that, he continued on his way, propelling himself down the hallway towards his dressing room.

"Matthew," Mary called as she followed after him. "Darling, is anything the matter?"

The only answer she received was a rueful chuckle.

"Papa told you, didn't he?" she asked when she caught up to him, nearly jogging to keep up with his urgent pace.

Matthew nodded curtly, still refusing to look up at her face. He couldn't bear to see the worry and disappointment on her beautiful features.

"I told him not to tell you."

At this, Matthew stopped as quickly as he was able, inclining his head slightly in her direction, though his eyes remained fixed on the delicate pendant resting at the hollow of her throat.

"Were _you_ going to tell me?" he demanded, his mouth set in a stern line.

Mary very briefly contemplated lying to him for his own good, but was saved the trouble when he spoke again.

"Don't bother trying to pretend you were. Your father told me he'd asked you to be the one to break the news and that you refused. Why would you do that?"

"I..." she paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, not entirely sure how to explain herself to him. "I only wanted..."

"You _weren't_ going to tell me. At least, not until it became absolutely necessary," he accused. "Mary, didn't you think that this was something I ought to know of? That I shouldn't be kept in the dark about things that affect me and my life?"

Mary could think of no way to defend her actions. He was right. She had hoped to keep it from him. At the time, she had thought only to protect him, but perhaps he had a right to be upset.

"I am not a child to be led about blindly by the hand," Matthew continued. "And I don't appreciate being lied to."

"I wouldn't..."

"Omitting vital truths is essentially the same thing," he interrupted.

Mary felt the blood drain from her face at his last statement. It reminded her all too much about a very important truth she had omitted - had been omitting - for months now. How could she ever tell him, knowing what he would think of her?

"I only wanted," she spoke up hesitantly, "to protect you."

Matthew scoffed at this, shaking his head sadly.

"I don't need your protection, Mary. I don't _want_ it. I wanted you to be my wife, my partner...Well, it seems as though even that's gone now. I'm terribly sorry to be such a disappointment to you."

With that, he continued on down the hallway until he reached his dressing room. Mary started when she heard the door close, followed shortly by the echo of the lock clicking into place.

Suddenly overwhelmed with weariness, she sagged against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threatened.

She hadn't seen Matthew that angry since he'd left her weeping at that awful garden party. A suffocating feeling of powerlessness descended, chilling her to the very marrow of her bones. Matthew didn't need her to protect him. Didn't _want_ her to. He had _wanted_ her to be his wife and his partner. Did he truly mean that in the past tense? Surely this one little mistake wasn't enough to cause him to so completely lose his faith in her, but...why, then, was he so distressed by her very presence?

At a complete loss, she made her way slowly to the library where she sat by the window for a long time, just staring down at her wedding ring.

"Mary, there you are. I was wondering..."

Mary's head jerked up at the sound of her father's voice.

"Why did you tell him when I explicitly asked you not to?" she interrupted, eyes flashing angrily.

"He deserved to know, Mary. It wouldn't have been right to keep him in the dark, to risk him finding out from somebody else. Rumors spread quickly among the officers, you know. I can't be sure that Pat...that Lieutenant Gordon has been completely discreet."

"But that..." she began, her voice hitching as tears welled in her eyes, "that wasn't for you to decide, Papa. He's _my_ husband. _My_ charge!"

"And _my _son-in-law!" Robert retorted before groaning in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. "For heaven's sake, Mary, why are we arguing over Matthew as though he were a favorite toy? This is absurd. Are you even hearing yourself?"

"I don't have time for this, Papa," Mary snapped, rising from her seat. "Thanks to you, Matthew's upset. He may need me."

"Just a moment, Mary. I did come in here to tell you something."

"Yes?" she responded testily, her patience running dangerously thin.

"I've called a meeting of the entire family just before dinner tonight. I will, of course, understand if Matthew would rather not attend, but I would like you to be there."

"Oh, I'll be there," Mary assured him, her face hard with determination.

Overwhelmed once more by feelings of frustration and powerlessness, Mary stormed down the hallway towards the front door, feeling the need to walk and walk endlessly to rid herself of all she was feeling. She couldn't help the stirrings of betrayal that her father's willingness to even give voice to such an absurdity evoked. How could he be so callous towards her? Towards _Matthew_?

She walked for almost an hour before finally returning to the house in time to dress for dinner.

* * *

Matthew sat quietly listening to Anna's soft chatter as she helped Mary dress for dinner on the opposite side of the door. Occasionally, his wife's lower, richer tones were also heard, but today her voice was hard, cutting. He knew she didn't mean to be gruff with Anna, but she probably couldn't help herself. She had suffered a great disappointment; he shouldn't wonder if she was out of sorts.

_"I cannot believe he's even agreed to look into the subject. It's completely ridiculous...and totally unfair." _

Her voice seemed to grow louder each time he heard it, and he placed his palms securely over his ears to block out the sound. He didn't want to hear how disappointed and worried Mary was, nor did he wish to think about what their life would be once she was no longer the future Countess of Grantham. And there was no doubt in his mind that this mysterious newcomer would be found to be the rightful heir. That would be what was best for the estate, after all. An estate needed an heir. This man may be scarred beyond recognition, but he could probably still sire a string of heirs to carry on the line. _He_ was the man Mary should have married, but now it was too late.

Matthew bit his lip to distract himself from the searing pain the gripped his heart at the thought that Mary might already be regretting their marriage. And he had been so close - or, at least, he thought he had been - to winning her love. Would she ever want him to hold her again? To touch her; pleasure her? Perhaps the best thing he could do for her was release her. A divorce would be another scandal on top of the one she had only recently recovered from, but perhaps she would rather endure it than lose her future at Downton. He wouldn't blame her if she did. It would be better for her, surely, but for him...he would be left truly desolate.

And what if separation wasn't an option? One had to have grounds for a divorce, and, so far, they didn't have any that would stand up in court. He couldn't decide which was worse: watching Mary leave him forever for another man or watching her become embittered and resentful towards him as he forever placed her dearest desires out of her reach. Now there was nothing he could give her. Nothing he could offer or share. He would soon be nothing to her but a burden, a millstone around her delicate neck.

Her rushed footsteps were heard crossing the carpeted floor then, followed shortly after by the hollow echo of the bedroom door clicking shut behind her. She hadn't even bothered asking him again if he wished to attend the meeting. He should be grateful that she respected his wishes, but a small, hurting part of him wished for any of her notice - just some small acknowledgement that wasn't yet nothing to her. Mary, Robert, and Bates had all knocked on his door to ask if he wished to attend, and he had gruffly refused entry to all three. He was on the verge of an emotional breakdown he didn't want anyone to witness, not even Mary. _Especially_ not Mary.

His eyes fell on the children's story book she had read to him from the previous day; from there, his mind wandered to the image of her spread out on the bed before him in all her glory, reading love poetry that, to her, must have seemed so silly. At that moment, he would have given anything just for the hope of sharing even that much with her again. What a privilege he had been granted simply to see and touch her, to be with her in her most unguarded moments. Now, even all that was gone, and he hated himself for ever giving in to self-pity because of what they couldn't share when they had shared so much - so much that he didn't deserve.

The tears fell then, and he hunched forward in his chair, wrapping his arms tightly around himself lest the pain in his heart split his chest wide open. He didn't know how long he remained thus, but, when Carson knocked on the door with his dinner tray and asked to be admitted, he cleared his throat and asked, as politely as he could manage, to be left alone. The dutiful butler did as he was told, but Matthew heard him place the tray on the floor in the hallway before returning to his other duties. The distraction was brief, and, after, a fresh wave of pain crashed over him, but, this time, there were no more tears. He felt empty and hopeless, as if his life no longer had meaning or purpose. And he didn't know how long he could bear it.

* * *

Mary felt exhausted after the family discussion. Her father had already told her most of the details, but seeing the various reactions of her other family members further taxed her emotions. Edith, especially, angered her; her blind acceptance and obvious desire to see Matthew cheated out of his rightful inheritance so that she could chase a ghost from the past made Mary positively ill with indignation. Everyone else seemed sympathetic, but nobody seemed to understand just how ridiculous it was to give any credence at all to the claims of this obvious sham. It was cruel to put Matthew through it after all he had endured over the past months, and especially the day after he suffered such a bitter disappointment after the specialist's visit. She was also frustrated with herself for very nearly weeping in front of everybody, but she had managed to just barely hold her frustrated tears in check.

Isobel kept an eye on her daughter-in-law throughout the meeting. Of course Mary would be upset by the prospect of losing her future at Downton, but the older woman suspected that there was more to it than that. Determined to offer Mary her support, she took a seat beside her at dinner, watching as the younger woman ate a little of her soup but barely picked at the other courses that were set before her.

"Mary, dear," Isobel asked just as the ladies were rising to retire to the drawing room, "perhaps we should go together to check on Matthew. He'll want to be appraised of the outcome of the discussion earlier."

"I'm not sure how much there is to tell," Mary responded bitterly. "Papa is still determined to play his part in this charade, and I should hate for Matthew to think that his family - that his own father-in-law - isn't on his side."

"Then we can tell him that we have no new information for him at this time, if you think it best, but I would still like to look in on him before I go."

"All right," Mary responded, the thought of seeing Matthew calming her ruffled spirits a bit. "Should we go now?"

With that, the two ladies excused themselves and made their way down the hall. They were both surprised to see an untouched dinner tray beside the door. Isobel moved it aside and knocked softly.

"Matthew, dear, it's your wife and your mama. May we come in?"

Both ladies waited in silence for a few moments, but there was no answer.

"Matthew?" Mary asked softly. "It's me. It's Mary. Please open the door."

Again, there was only silence from inside the room.

"Please, at least say _something," _Mary pled, beginning to worry about his lack of response. "Say anything, please!"

Isobel knocked on the door again, more firmly this time.

"Matthew, open this door!"

"I'll ring for Mrs. Hughs," Mary breathed, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. "She has a key."

After ducking into her bedroom to access the bell pull, Mary tried the adjoining door, but it, too, was locked. On impulse, she crouched low enough to peep through the key hole, only to behold a sight that made her blood run cold. Matthew's still form was slumped forward, his head and arms resting on the bed.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, raising her hands to pound against the wood of the door. "Matthew! Matthew, wake up! _Please_!"

"What is it, Mary?" Isobel asked just as Mrs. Hughs arrived with the key.

"Get this door open at once!" Mary barked, ignoring Isobel's question. "Hurry!"

As Mrs. Hughs fumbled to find the right key on her ring, Mary paced the length of her bedroom, fear gripping her heart like icy fingers.

"It's all my fault," she mumbled pitifully. "I should _never _have left him alone. I should have known...but I thought he was better now."

"Mary, dear, you must remain calm," Isobel spoke sternly, placing a hand on Mary's arm. "You've done wonderfully by my son. Besides, I'm sure he's just fine."

Mary couldn't imagine how Matthew lying unresponsive across the bed was _just fine_ in anyone's book, but perhaps Isobel was simply trying to placate her. If anything had happened to him because of her negligence, she would never forgive herself. And how was she ever to live without him? The thought brought fearful tears to her eyes.

When Mrs. Hughs at last found the right key and the door was swung open, Mary physically pushed Isobel aside to get to Matthew, not thinking or caring that it might be rude to do so. Her hands immediately fell on his neck and his back, feeling the reassuring throb of his pulse and the rise and fall of his shoulders as he - _thanks be to God_ - breathed.

With a weary sigh, she placed a hand over her wildly-pounding heart, feeling almost faint with relief.

"He took a sleeping draught," Isobel noted, placing the small bottle in her hands back on the table. "I wonder why he didn't ring for someone to help him into bed."

"Oh, Matthew, you can't scare me like that!" Mary snapped at her sleeping husband, knowing full well he wouldn't hear her. She just needed to do _something_ to ease the panic that still roiled inside her.

Mary started when Isobel placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I've asked Mrs. Hughs to fetch Bates to help get him into bed," the older woman explained in her best Nurse Isobel voice. "Let's get his jacket and tie off to make him more comfortable."

Mary nodded woodenly and gently maneuvered his arms down to his sides while Isobel slid the jacket from his shoulders. Bates arrived, and Isobel adjusted the pillow and blankets while Mary lifted his feet, slipping each of his shoes off after he was situated in bed. She looked up, surprised, when he began talking, his voice quiet and rough with sleep.

"Mother? What...?"

"Go to sleep, dear," Isobel soothed gently, patting his hair as she had done since he was a boy. "Just go to sleep. All is well."

Mary was relieved that Matthew did as Isobel said, his face again relaxing as he dropped off.

After the covers were tucked meticulously around his recumbent form, Mary sat down heavily at the foot of the bed, rubbing her tense brow with her gloved fingers. Isobel seated herself beside her, placing an arm around her shoulders.

"You should get some rest now, Mary," she instructed, her tone now gentle and motherly. "You're clearly exhausted."

Mary freely admitted that she _was_ exhausted. Matthew's nightmares had interrupted her sleep more nights than not since their marriage, but she was glad to take some of his burden on herself.

She allowed Isobel to help her out of her dress and pull the pins from her hair, feeling too tired and too emotionally spent to protest.

"You have lovely hair, my dear," Isobel observed gently as she ran her fingers soothingly through the long waves. She located one of Mary's nightgowns and slipped it over her head before turning back the blankets and fluffing the pillow as Mary slipped in on Matthew's usual side. She breathed deeply of his familiar scent as she felt sleep approaching, taking comfort from the reminder of his presence.

For a moment, Isobel sat beside her on the edge of the bed, stroking her back lightly with one hand.

"Thank you for letting me help you, Mary," she spoke quietly after a few moments. "A part of me has always wondered what it might have been like to have a daughter to fuss over."

Mary smiled softly at Isobel's words and kind smile, allowing her eyes to drift closed.

"You're so good to him," Isobel continued to soothe. "I cannot imagine anyone could have been better."

After Mary was safely asleep, Isobel returned to Matthew's room, finding him in the same state of deep slumber that she had left him in. For several minutes, she sat silently by his side, just cradling his hand in hers. She allowed herself to enjoy the small moment with her dear boy, knowing that, in the morning, he would be solely Mary's responsibility again. He was apparently hurting more than anyone knew to have taken that sleeping draught of his own accord. Still, her mother's heart was reassured by the knowledge that Matthew had a devoted wife who loved him desperately, enough to shove his own mother out of the way to go to his side when he might have been in danger.

She smiled at the memory. Yes, Mary loved her son so very, very much. Mary would never give up on him; all would be well.

* * *

_Yes, I know it's all so very sad and there were no sexytimes in this chapter to break up the angst, but thank you for sticking with me anyway. :)_


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N: More angst this time, but we're getting close. :) **  
_

_**Big thanks to Willa Dedalus for all her marvelous insight and help! And thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I didn't get to respond to all the reviews this week, but I do appreciate and cherish each and every one. :D**_

* * *

_Chapter 32_

The next few days were some of the worst Mary could ever remember enduring. Matthew wouldn't see her; he would hardly even speak to her. It seemed a great deal of punishment to have to endure because she had contemplated keeping the ridiculous false Patrick affair from him until it had blown over, but perhaps there was more to it than he had let on.

Her mother's attitude certainly wasn't helping things. Cora hadn't actually said anything, but the pointed looks she sent in Mary's direction whenever they were in the same room spoke volumes. Mary was pleased to find that she and Matthew had her grandmother's full support, whatever the outcome of the investigation. The knowledge did help lighten the load, but the presence of Patrick Gordon had cast a pall over Downton Abbey that dampened even Sybil's indomitable spirits.

The worst part of it all was having to see the effect the news had on Matthew. His despondency was agonizing to see, as it always had been, but it was made worse by the fact that he wouldn't accept comfort from anyone. After the sleeping draught incident, Isobel had wisely made him promise that he wouldn't lock his doors again, which was only agreed to when Mary promised not to force her company on him when he wished to be alone.

She reluctantly agreed, but two nights later, she managed to slip into his dressing room just after he'd retired, dismissing Bates before Matthew realized what was happening.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, his eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind her.

"Matthew, please tell me what's troubling you. If it's this _Patrick_ character, then I can assure you..."

"I don't want to hear this, Mary," he stopped her, his brow furrowing as he tried to contain his emotions.

"Than what is it? Are you angry with me?"

Matthew faltered for a moment, wondering if it might be best to allow her to believe that. But no; this time, the brutal truth was more compelling than any lie.

"The thing is...without Downton I am...completely worthless to anybody, even myself. I'm _useless_. And you cannot possibly understand how I'm feeling, so don't try and pretend that you do. And don't act like you're not scared stiff underneath that composed exterior that you'll end up with nothing in life but a useless clod of a husband. No one sane would want to be stuck with me."

Mary felt in terrible danger of losing her composure irreparably. She didn't know what to do or how to behave, but she knew she had to get away from him. She needed to think clearly, and she couldn't do that faced with his hardness and his misguided estimation of his own worth. Gathering the last of her courage, she spoke, her voice as firm and as level as she could manage, her _Lady Mary_ mask firmly in place.

"If you really, truly believe that...then I have failed you."

With that, she turned and left the room, swallowing back her sobs so that he wouldn't hear her weep.

* * *

Mary's worry for her husband grew as Matthew became more despondent with each day that went by without word that he was, again, secure in his inheritance. He seemed to have regressed back almost to those first sad days at the hospital; all her hard work over the past months seemed completely undone. The things that she had found to interest him with had all been cast aside in favor of sitting in his dressing room, sleeping or staring at the wall. He read sometimes, but not his favorite books - not the poetry she knew he was so fond of. She tried, on a few occasions, to reach out to him, but her attempts only seemed to make him withdraw further into himself.

On a particularly lonely night, she heard little Puck scratching at Matthew's door, a sad little whimper escaping him as he tried to comprehend why his master no longer wished for his company. Mary felt a surprising kinship with the forlorn pup. She missed having Matthew beside her at night; missed his warmth and the strength of his arms around her. They were both cast aside in favor of his own dark musings, which even she couldn't distract him from now. It seemed nobody could.

Rising from the bed, she made her way to the door, cracking it open just enough to see the puppy trying to peek under Matthew's door.

"Come here, Puck," she whispered, smiling as his little nub tail immediately began wagging furiously. She scooped his fuzzy little body into her arms, holding him close and cooing soothing sounds to him. It was silly, she knew. Still, she'd felt hopelessly useless and lost, having been denied her usual place at Matthew's side. It felt good to be useful to _someone_.

"I know, little fellow," she whispered. "Me too."

She crawled back into her big, empty bed with Puck still in her arms. Never in her wildest imaginings had Lady Mary thought she would ever allow a dog into her bed. It was surprising, but at least she was no longer alone.

On the other side of the wall, Matthew lay awake in his own bed, listening sadly as Mary let his dog into her room. He wasn't sure that, were he able to actually rise and walk to the door, he would have wanted to let Puck in. If he accepted any comfort at all, he feared he would fall apart completely. He was trying desperately hard not to let Mary see how much his fear of losing her affection plagued him, but he knew he was failing miserably. For the first time since his injury, to truly felt as though he had nothing to look forward to and no hope on which to cling. Before, there had been Mary and what they could still share with Downton as the glue that would hold them together. Take that away, and what was left for them?

Even beyond his grief for his blossoming romantic relationship with his wife, such as it was, Matthew dreaded the thought of a life of dependancy and uselessness. Running Downton was something that he _could_ do, especially with Mary's help. The idea of being an earl had always been frightening, but perhaps he would have been able to be a voice for good in the world. Additionally, the position might have afforded him some measure of respect despite his handicapped state. But without that...He would certainly never work again. Who would hire a useless cripple? Nobody in their right mind would. How would he provide for Mary then? How would he keep from going insane from lack of activity and mental stimulation? Such a future was almost impossible to fathom.

His only defense against his own fear was to keep Mary at arm's length. It was better for them both that they pull back now so that they could think objectively when the time for making important decisions came. He didn't want her being led by any misguided feelings of obligation or pity for him; she should do what was best for _her_. Unlike him, she still had a life to live - one that would be fuller and better if he wasn't in it.

And he knew that, should he give her the chance to show him any tenderness or affection, no matter how small, his meager defense would crumble and he would beg and plead with her to promise that she would never leave him. That wouldn't be fair to her. If Mary decided to act in her own best interest, she should be able to do so with a clear conscience. It was the least he could offer her. He wasn't yet sure if a permanent rupture could be arranged, but if it was what Mary wanted...perhaps he could find a way.

The thought of a life without Mary in it sent fresh waves of pain crashing over his battered heart, and the bitter cycle of his hopeless thoughts began over again. Eventually, he would fall asleep. His subconscious seemed to delight in cruelly tormenting him with dreams of holding Mary's soft form in his arms, sometimes even as a whole, fully-functioning man. Those dreams were the cruelest to wake from - crueler than any nightmare.

* * *

When Sunday arrived, Mary peeked into Matthew's room to find him reading quietly in bed, an untouched breakfast tray on the table beside him.

"Good morning," she spoke tentatively.

"Morning," Matthew replied gruffly, his brow instantly furrowing at the sound of her voice.

"Would you like to attend church with us?" Mary asked, but with little hope of an affirmative answer.

Matthew opened his mouth, prepared to protest, but closed it again as a little prodding in the back of his mind told him he should go. It had been quite some time since he had attended church services, and his faith had always been an important part of his life. There hadn't seemed to be any place for God in the horror and filth of war - just where His comforting presence had been needed most. But Robert had informed them all the night before that the war was over, practically, if not officially. There would be no more killing - no more destroyed lives and ruined hopes. It was finally over. If that wasn't a reason to thank God, he didn't know what was.

"I would, actually," he answered curtly.

"Wonderful," Mary responded, surprised, but immensely pleased. She hoped that some fresh air and a change of scenery would do Matthew some good. With any luck, the church service might help him find some measure of peace. "I'll just...ring for Bates to assist you."

With that, Mary returned to her own room and rang for Anna. When she appeared, Mary asked for Bates to be sent to Matthew before allowing Anna to help her dress for the day. Matthew's consent to accompany them out had given her hope that he might finally be emerging from the dark cloud that seemed to have swallowed him whole. Perhaps he was finally ready to let her in again.

When they arrived at church, Matthew tried to swallow his embarrassment as several churchgoers gawked while his chair was lifted up the front steps by Branson and Bates. The family usually sat towards the front, so he was forced to face the long trip up the aisle and around the front of the church so that they could place him on the outside aisle, near the wall. He kept his eyes fixed on his folded hands, unable to bear the various pitying looks directed his way by his fellow parishioners.

He sighed softly when Mary took the seat nearest him at the end of the pew, her sweet-smelling perfume assailing his senses as his mind was transported back in time to the last morning he had spent in the church - the morning the lovely, gracious woman beside him had become his wife. She'd said _for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, _but nobody had ever expected those words to become their reality. Shrugging off this troubling train of thought, Matthew tried to refocus his attention on Mr. Travers as he read aloud from the open Bible before him.

"_Then they came to Him, bringing a paralytic who was carried by four men..." _

_Ah, _Matthew thought. He knew the story, though it had never seemed quite so...ridiculous before, nor so heart-wrenching.

"_He said to the paralytic,__'I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go to your house.' __Immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went out in the presence of them all..."_

Matthew rubbed his cramping forehead with the pads of his fingers, squeezing his eyes closed against the flood of emotion the familiar story evoked. He had thought to find comfort in the Lord's house, but he had found only greater torment. If only the service would end so that he could return to the privacy of his dressing room where no one would disturb him. Determinedly, he kept his eyes turned towards the wall, knowing that if he looked in Mary's direction his attempts at composure would be undermined completely.

On the pew beside him, Mary twisted her hands in her lap, knowing how uncomfortable Matthew must be. She felt terribly foolish for asking him to attend, though she knew she could never have predicted Mr. Travers' unfortunate choice of text.

A part of her identified with the four determined men who had carried their paralyzed friend to the feet of Jesus, knowing that, were Jesus still somewhere on earth, she would have gotten Matthew to him _somehow_ - on her own back if necessary. But Jesus wasn't around when they needed Him, and miracles certainly didn't happen in her day and age. Perhaps they never really had.

Late that night, when the house was quiet and at rest, a sad moan reached Mary's ears from the other side of the door. She knocked softly and pushed it open, peeking her head it to see that Matthew was steadfastly feigning sleep. She'd observed him in repose enough times to know that he wasn't really asleep. There were fresh tears still glistening on his cheeks, but he obviously didn't want comfort.

Unable to resist, she stepped close and gently squeezed his hand, taking a moment of comfort from the familiar warmth of his skin against hers. When he didn't respond, she retreated back to her own lonely bedroom where they had once slept side by side, suddenly overwhelmed with grief for all they had lost, and so desperately, desperately confused as to why Matthew was so profoundly disturbed when he had been doing so much better only days earlier.

In a moment of desperation, she dropped to her knees beside the bed, closed her eyes tightly, and prayed.

"Dear Lord," she whispered, "I know I haven't...demonstrated much faith in you in the past, but...if you're there...and if you still perform miracles...would you..."

With a frustrated groan, Mary rose from her knees and paced to the darkened window and back, embarrassed that she had been about to ask for something so outrageous. She was behaving like a silly, ignorant child. The best that she could expect was that the retched imposer who had so badly mucked up her life, and her husband's life, would soon be exposed and all could return to the way it had been...before. That would have to be miracle enough for them.

* * *

The next morning found Matthew in a pensive mood. The news of the upcoming armistice had evoked many sad and poignant memories from the time before his injury. A key player in most of these remembrances was William Mason - the fallen soldier who had saved his retched life. What a terrible, sad waste it seemed that a bright, promising young man was dead and he...wasn't. If anyone had deserved to make it out alive, it was William. The injustice of it all made him dreadfully sad. A part of him wished he could discuss these feelings with Mary, but that obviously was no longer a possibility.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had never seen where his friend was buried, and he felt almost guilty that he had been going on about his own life without even thinking to visit the man who was responsible for his survival. He resolved to rectify this failure as soon as possible. To that end, he rang for Carson and asked where Lord Grantham could be found. Carson was good enough to wheel him into the private library, where Robert was comfortably ensconced with his newspaper, Isis and Puck playing around his feet.

"Matthew!" Robert exclaimed in surprise as his son-in-law entered, immediately setting his paper aside. "My dear boy, how are you?"

Choosing to ignore the question he knew Robert wouldn't want to hear his honest answer to, Matthew decided to be direct.

"Robert, I would like to visit William Mason's grave. I wondered if you might be willing to take me."

Robert looked surprised for a moment, but quickly schooled his expression.

"Certainly. I would be honored." Robert rose and pulled the bell to summon Carson back. "I'll just have the car brought around."

Half an hour later, Matthew sat beside William's simple head stone, staring down at the grass that covered the grave of his fallen comrade. Robert stood quietly beside him with his hat in his hands, patiently waiting for Matthew to break the silence.

"I know it's wrong that I should feel sorry for myself when I'm up here...and William's down there." He nodded his head towards the earth below their feet, wishing he truly believed his own noble words.

"Matthew, I do want you to know that you never have to worry about how you and Mary will live should...should things not go as we would all wish."

Matthew looked up, surprised by Robert's sudden mention of the topic that had been hanging about unacknowledged for days, but made no other response.

"I've been thinking," Robert continued. "I own a smaller estate several miles north of here that I could let you and Mary have for life. It isn't Downton, but the grounds are lovely and the house is comfortable. It's profitable now, but with the two of you running it, I'm sure it could be even more so."

"Thank you for your confidence in me, Robert," Matthew spoke softly, "but I'm not sure Mary would be overly enthusiastic about the prospect. Like you said, it isn't Downton. Mary married me so that she could have _Downton_."

"She also married you so that she could have _you_, you know," Robert responded, his tone light and teasing.

Matthew was taken aback. He chuckled and shook his head ruefully.

"Robert, don't be ridiculous. If she wanted _me_ for anything, if was to help her reputation."

"You mean she's never told you?" Robert asked, his tone suddenly serious.

"Told me what?"

"That she loves you, Matthew. It's plain as day to anyone with eyes. I can't believe she's never told you."

Matthew furrowed his brow and tried to fight back the unwelcome surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm his thoughts.

Unbidden, her words from several nights ago ran through his mind - words he hadn't given much thought to at the time that suddenly gave him a great deal of pause.

_"If you really, truly believe that... then I have failed you." _

_Failed him? _How had she failed him? What could she have meant by that?

"She could have gone to America, you know...to ride out the scandal."

"What?"

"Cora and I offered to send her to stay with her grandmama in New York, but Mary said she didn't want to leave you. If she had only wanted a ticket out of the scandal, she could have gone away for a while, tried to find some other man who would have her, and - were she unsuccessful in finding a husband - returned and married you for Downton then. But, she didn't do that, did she? What does that tell you?"

Seeing Matthew's stormy expression, Robert placed a comforting hand on his son-in-law's shoulder and continued to speak, his voice light and cheerful.

"Mary chose you because she wanted to, not because she had no other choice. Let that give you courage to ride out this storm. The two of you have a brilliant future ahead, no matter the outcome of this current trial."

* * *

Matthew wasn't sure what to think about his conversation with Robert at William's grave.

Try as he might to push all such foolish, false hopes from his mind, he stayed awake for hours after the rest of the house was abed, just wondering. Robert _couldn't_ have been correct in his assumptions. Mary _shouldn't_ love him; that was the worst thing she could ever allow herself to do. And, even if she had come to feel some small measure of love for him since they'd been reunited, the threat of reduced circumstances would surely destroy it forever. His position had been called into question before, and Mary's devotion had been shaken then. How much more so now, when he didn't really even have himself to offer her?

But her words - those cryptic, confusing words she'd said to him just before she'd retreated into the bedroom, her feeble attempts to muffle her labored breathing failing to hide her discomposure from his sharp ears.

_"If you really, truly believe that... then I have failed you."_

At _what_ had she failed? And why hadn't she gone to America to wait out the end of the scandal? Perhaps she thought America wouldn't be to her taste, but that didn't explain why she'd failed to tell him of the possibility. Of course, he would have insisted that she go and at least try to find a real life for herself before becoming tied to him for the rest of her days, but she hadn't even given him that choice. None of it made any sense.

He pondered these things into the small hours of the morning, but came no closer to a satisfactory explanation of Mary's actions. Trying to sort out Mary's thought process was like working a puzzle with several pieces missing. There was _something..._something hovering just on the periphery of his vision that he wasn't quite seeing. If he could only find that elusive _something_ then all the pieces would fall into place and the mystery that was his wife might finally be solved.

If she truly did love him...In one light, it fit nicely into the puzzle, but, at the same time, it made no sense to him. It was impossible. Wasn't it? Of course it was, but...he found himself unable to dismiss the notion as easily as he once had. If Mary loved him, then everything was changed, everything was different. He had to admit, it was possible, but he wasn't ready to accept it. Not yet. Not until he heard the words from Mary's own mouth.

But it was so _impossible_ - so difficult to believe or even imagine.

Images of her tender care, her sweet words, and the passion he felt in her touch flashed before his mind's eye, and he was, again, faced with the conviction that she could be falling in love with him. Now he had another piece of the puzzle, but what to do with it? Would her love even survive this trial? Did he want it to? Wouldn't it be better for her that they go their separate ways?

No closer to any answers, he finally drifted off into an exhausted, but restless, sleep.

* * *

**_A/N2: A lot of reviewers have expressed frustration with the fact that M/M haven't gotten on the same page about their feelings yet, and I am getting to that, I promise. It'll happen next chapter for sure, so hang in there. I tried to find a way to squeeze it into this one, but it would either have been way too long a chapter or would have felt too rushed and I don't want to shortchange the story when I've come this far. I'm writing this based on the way I believe the characters would actually react to this situation, so I have to remain true to that. Thanks for hanging in there and trusting me on this! _**

**_For those who have been watching series 3, this was Matthew's "not yet" moment. The truth is right in front of him, but he's not quite ready to accept it. Because he's Matthew and he does silly things like that. :) It'll take a good kick in the pants from Mary to get him to see the truth, just like in canon. _**

**_Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, I'd love to know your thoughts. :D_**


	33. Chapter 33

_**A/N:**_I know it's been a bit longer than usual, but thank you all for your patience. This is one of those chapters I'm hesitant to let go of, worried that I haven't gotten it exactly right. No point in obsessing over it though. So, here it is. :)_  
_

Huge thanks to Willa Dedalus for being such a wonderful support. You rock. ;)

* * *

Chapter 33

Two days later, Matthew decided to rejoin the family at dinner. He was growing terribly lonely in his self-imposed solitude, and he'd had ample time to mull over his conversation with Robert. Curiosity was beginning to take hold, as was the simple desire to be in Mary's presence again. He missed her, desperately so. If they were together in company, perhaps it would be alright. He could gauge her feelings for him in relative safety, and, hopefully, reach some sort of conclusion to quiet the fierce nagging in the back of his mind that tried to name that elusive missing piece. He was close; he could feel it. As he sat patiently and allowed Bates to knot his tie, a nervous sort of anticipation began to grow deep in his belly. The sounds of Mary's own preparations reached him, and he clenched his hands into fists on the arms of his chair, drawing in a deep, steadying breath.

He waited until he heard his wife disappear down to hall to emerge, slowly wheeling himself into the drawing room. Everyone seemed surprised to see him. He supposed they should be after an entire week in which he'd kept mostly to his own room. Mary's smile was so genuine that he had to look away rather abruptly. She seemed truly delighted, as did Robert, who was immediately by his side with a supportive hand on his shoulder.

Matthew watched from the corner of his eye as Mary approached him, her steps slow and deliberate.

"Darling, I'm so glad you've decided to join us," she spoke sweetly when she stood only a few feet away from him. It was closer than she'd been to him in days, but still such a great distance compared to her usual place at his side.

As much as Mary would have liked to be in her usual spot next to Matthew, she didn't want to push her luck. He seemed so very much improved, though his distress was still evident in the hard set of his jaw and the rigidity of his shoulders. The sparkle hadn't yet returned to his eyes, and he hardly smiled. Still, it was an improvement, and she was grateful for it. She chose the seat across from him, far enough away that he wouldn't feel crowded, but close enough that she could speak to him if he seemed willing. And she could watch him almost constantly. Her eyes were so starved for the sight of him. Even drawn and tired and uneasy, he was impossibly handsome.

Mary's polite smile faltered a bit when her mother chose the place beside Matthew at the table. Her patronizing manner towards Mary hadn't changed since the beginning of the entire silly mess, and it made her terribly uneasy to wonder what she might possibly have to say to Matthew. She began to regret not taking that seat herself, if only to shield him from the potentially uncomfortable conversation. Sybil took the seat between Matthew and their father, so she took some comfort in that. Mary found herself seated between her father and Edith, whom she hadn't been on good terms with since the gullible fool started openly championing the impostor's cause.

Matthew conversed, or rather tried to converse, with Robert and Sybil through the first course, all carefully avoiding any uncomfortable subjects. Unfortunately, this left them with very little of which to speak, leaving mainly the most recent news regarding the upcoming armistice and the weather. The second course arrived, and Matthew, as decorum dictated, turned to address Cora.

"Matthew, dear, I do hope you're feeling better today," she spoke as soon as they'd turned. "I know this has all been a terrible shock."

Taken off guard by her sudden mention of the very topic he'd been so studiously avoiding, Matthew paused to clear his throat before responding.

"Thank you, Cousin Cora. Yes, it has been...a shock."

"How simply awful for you and Mary, and so early on in your marriage," Cora continued, her tone thick with false sincerity.

Before Matthew could respond, Edith spoke up, loudly enough to be heard by the entire table.

"I think it's terribly rude of us not to invite Cousin Patrick to join us for dinner. After all, he is..."

"Edith, we've been over this," Robert interrupted. "We don't know that he is who he says he is, and until we have definitive proof..."

"_I_ know he's Patrick!" Edith shot back. "He knows all sorts of things only the real Patrick would know."

"Oh, really?" Mary interjected, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Any fortune teller at a fair can come up with a hundred things..."

"We all know why you're so against him, Mary," Edith interrupted. "You just won't let yourself see the truth."

"Girls, girls," Cora chastened gently. "Perhaps this isn't a discussion for the dinner table."

All silently picked at their food for several minutes before Cora continued, her words directed primarily at Matthew.

"I do hope, for Mary's sake, that we can prove this man a fraud. It would be terrible for her to lose the one thing she gained by her marriage."

"Mama!" Mary spoke up, unable to avoid overhearing her mother's words.

"Oh, Mary, don't try to pretend that it isn't true. I know your father will do all he can to..."

"Of course it isn't true. You know it isn't," Mary shot back, glancing worriedly in Matthew's direction, hoping her mother wasn't going to force her to say more than she wanted to.

"Do you refer to your reputation?" Cora continued, her voice as cool and her manner as collected as if she were speaking of the weather or the condition of the roads. "Dear, we both know that, if that had been your primary concern, you would be in America now."

Matthew watched Mary's face as her mother spoke. At the mention of America, she looked positively stricken. Her eyes flitted over to his face before returning to her plate, though she made no move to eat anything.

"Didn't Mary tell you? that she might have gone to America to wait out the scandal?" Edith spoke up, seeing what she thought was a surprised expression on Matthew's face. "Surely, she did."

"I...um..." he began.

"You mean she didn't tell you?" Cora drawled.

"Mama, you know perfectly well that I didn't," Mary interjected, her throat tightening with fear and anger.

"I _know perfectly well_ that your silly, romantic notions may have cost you your future," Cora spoke hotly, her calm mask finally beginning to slip. "_Now_ do you see how foolish you've been?"

"_Cora!" _Robert exclaimed, though it was a lame defense. The words had already been said.

"I cannot believe this." Mary stood and tossed her napkin down on the table, her eyes misting with tears. "Please excuse me. I don't feel well."

"Mary!" Sybil stood and made to go after her sister, but Matthew stopped her with a gentle hand on her wrist.

"Let's give her a moment, Sybil." he encouraged gently. Sybil returned to her seat.

"Cousin Cora," Matthew began calmly, turning slightly in Cora's direction, "your words have clearly upset my wife. I cannot simply let it pass. I must insist that you explain yourself."

Cora rolled her eyes slightly at Matthew's insistence.

"I just think it's time that Mary stopped living in this dream world she's created for herself and faced facts. I tried to tell her she was behaving foolishly, but she refused to listen. I told her to go to America and try to start a new life, but she would hear none of it. She insisted that she wouldn't leave you."

"Cora, please..."

"It's all right, Robert," Matthew interrupted him, pausing to clear his throat before continuing. "But, why would she...I assure you, Cousin Cora, I never asked her to...she never even told me. I..."

"I know it isn't...completely your fault, Matthew. Mary insisted that we refrain from mentioning our offer of a trip to America to you."

Matthew's brow creased as he pondered her words. This was the second instance in only a little over a week's time in which Mary had asked others to keep something from him. Thankfully, they hadn't been able to keep her secrets for long.

"Matthew did nothing at all wrong, Cora," Robert interjected. "Now, perhaps this is a subject for another time."

"One last thing, Cousin Cora," Matthew spoke, his mind still doing flips over one particular phrase that he couldn't shake. "You mentioned something about some 'silly, romantic notions.' Whatever did you mean?"

"I meant that Mary thought that she was...making up for lost time, or...atoning for past failings. I don't know. I didn't fully understand it either. She seemed to fancy herself in love, and saw it as an opportunity to make things right between you. Something like that. I don't remember her exact words. I tried to tell her she was behaving foolishly."

"Cora!" Robert chastened. "I never saw anything foolish about Mary's actions. She wanted to be with Matthew, and I gave her my full blessing."

Matthew didn't know what to think or say. His heart thudded wildly in his chest; he could scarcely breathe. Could it really be true? Had Mary been keeping such a...monumental secret from his all this time?

A light touch on his arm surprised him, and he looked up into Sybil's gentle face. Her full lips were curved up in an encouraging smile.

"Mary's always loved you, Matthew. Very much. I think it's all so terribly romantic, the two of you finding each other after all this time."

He managed to return her polite smile, but his mind was racing with the enormity of the discovery he may have made.

"If you all will excuse me, I should check on Mary."

With that, he wheeled himself away from the table and to the door, not even pausing to allow Carson to enter and open it for him, as he made his way down the hall towards Mary's...towards _their_ bedroom.

* * *

Once alone, Mary paced the length of the room for several moments before seating herself on the edge of the bed and covering her face with her gloved hands. The scene at the dinner table replayed itself over and over in her mind, each time sending a fresh wave of anger and worry through her veins. She felt sickeningly helpless as she watched the life she had carefully constructed fall apart before her eyes. Her heart constricted painfully as she realized that she had, quite possibly, lost Matthew forever. Would he ever forgive her for keeping her parent's offer of a trip to America from him? for keeping her true feelings from him? for manipulating his decisions?

She scrubbed roughly at the few tears that had managed to break free from her desperate attempt at control as the door creaked open behind her. Assuming her mother had sent Anna to attend her, she turned, only to be shocked to see Matthew had wheeled himself into the room. Her eyes darted about aimlessly as she tried to steel herself for what was to come, hardly knowing how she was going to face him. She was sure she'd acted with the best of intentions, but...if that was true, then why did she feel so terribly ashamed?

"Mary, what happened back there? Are you...well?"

A rueful laugh escaped her lips at his words. Matthew was too good, too wonderfully, undeservedly good to her.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I'm..." Matthew began haltingly, knowing he should be angry with her for lying to him, not just once, but multiple times over a matter of months, but feeling far too confused to fully feel it. "I'm...trying to understand, Mary. Really, I am."

For several moments, there was silence between them.

"Mary why didn't you tell me that your parents had offered to send you to America? Why did you ask them to keep it from me?"

"Because I...I knew that, if you knew, you...you would never have agreed..."

"Damned right, I wouldn't have!" Matthew shot back, his voice rising slightly. "I've always wanted what was best for you, Mary!"

"I know," Mary answered pathetically, hanging her head as another tear escaped. "You're too noble for your own good sometimes, Matthew."

"By the way, today wasn't the first time I heard of it," Matthew continued, ignoring Mary's statement. Her head snapped up and her watery eyes widened. "Your father actually told me first."

"When?"

"Two days ago. When he took me to visit William's grave," he answered, his voice lowering at the memory. "He thought the knowledge would be a comfort to me. How naive he can be at times!"

A little groan of frustration escaped Mary's control, and she fought the urge to stamp her foot.

"Oh! I know I shouldn't be angry with them, but..."

"No, you _shouldn't_ be angry. They were right to tell me. They should have told me long ago, while there was still time to save you from your own bloody foolishness!"

Mary cringed at his harsh words and pointed tone, closing her eyes against the anger in his cool blue ones.

"I think you've been lying to me for long enough," he continued after a moment, his voice carefully controlled. "Tell me now, Mary, in your own words: why didn't you go to America? If I find that you've...given up your chances at a real life because you felt obligated to stay with me, then I'll...I'll jump in the nearest river."

A small, sad laugh bubbled up, unbidden. "And how would you manage that without my help?"

"Well, I'll...get you to push me in," Matthew answered softly, his lips curving very slightly upwards.

Mary laughed humorlessly again, biting back the desperate sob that tried to escape.

"Oh, Matthew..." she paused, breathing deeply as she prepared to say the words she'd been carefully suppressing for months. Even now, she didn't feel he was ready to accept them. This wasn't right, wasn't how it was supposed to be. But she had run out of time and excuses. It couldn't be put off any longer. "I cannot believe that after all these months...after all we've shared...that you could still think I've done anything, or spent one moment at your side, out of _obligation_."

Matthew sighed quietly, those words that had haunted him for days ringing in his head once again.

_"If you really, truly believe that... then I have failed you."_

"Do you know why I hesitated so long to accept you...before the war?"

He started slightly at her unexpected question; his mind needed several seconds to process the memories and emotions it evoked before he could answer.

"Well, you...I suppose you weren't sure...about me. You weren't sure your...your feelings for me were enough..."

"You were terribly, terribly, wrong then," Mary spoke up, interrupting his rambling. "It was never about _you_. It was about _me_. Always about me!"

"What about..."

"Think, Matthew!" she suddenly shouted, arms akimbo in frustration at having to spell it all out for him when all she wanted to do was hide away from it all. "I couldn't give you an answer because that would mean making a choice...between accepting you while concealing the truth of my unworthiness and telling you the shameful truth and destroying your regard for me forever! It wasn't an easy choice, Matthew! Obviously, I couldn't bear to make it. So, you made it for me."

"Do you refer to..."

"My dead lover? Yes, of course. What else?" Mary bit her lip to distract herself from the rising tide of frustration and shame inside her. She hated that she was being unnecessarily sharp with Matthew, but it was the only way she was able to keep herself together.

"Do you see now?" she continued, forcing her tone to soften. "It was never about _you_."

Matthew nodded mutely, his eyes focusing somewhere on the counterpane behind Mary as he tried to process the unexpected revelation.

"And then, when you were coming back - I was planning on trying again to tell you everything. Even if you rejected me then, surely it couldn't be worse than you despising me for using you so cruelly. And at least you would know how I really felt about you in case...in case you..." Her voice trailed off, still unable to form the words, though he was well out of danger. "But then I learned of your engagement to Lavinia, and I knew I was too late. Again.

"But, then, when you were first injured, you sent Lavinia away, and she went. I saw my opportunity to make things right - to make things between us as they always should have been - and I took it. I did it because I wanted to be with you. I've always wanted to be with you, Matthew."

Matthew's mind struggled to keep up as she spoke. Little flashes of memory played across his mind's eyes as the missing pieces began to fall into place. Every kiss, every touch. Those things she'd done for him from day one that only someone truly devoted to him would do, and without the slightest obligation to do so. The look in her fathomless eyes when they were together... Oh, how had he not seen it for what it was? How had he been so willfully blind?

"And what you said...about Downton and saving your reputation?" he asked quietly, barely aware of the words falling from his own lips.

"Those things were true, to an extent," Mary answered, forcing herself to be honest with him, no matter the cost to herself. "But I may have given them more weight than I truly felt they carried. It was never really about Downton, or about my reputation. I wasn't without alternatives. I..."

"So, you lied to me." It wasn't a question or an accusation. Just a statement of fact spoken softly as he stared blankly ahead.

"I...I omitted much of the truth, which, as you've said, is...a lie, of sorts."

"What I don't... fully understand is why you didn't simply tell me...the truth," Matthew ventured, though he still wasn't exactly sure what the truth actually was.

"Because you would've pushed me away from you! You weren't ready to accept it. I only wanted...to be with you."

"But...Damn it, Mary! Nobody in their right mind would want to be with me!" His fists came down hard on the arms of his chair as his frustration mounted. "I have absolutely nothing to offer, nothing to give, and nothing to share! You _only wanted to be with me_? You must be mad!"

"I cannot believe this!" Mary shot back, her fists clenching into tight balls at her sides. "Are you daring to imply that I am...somehow mentally deficient for loving you? I can assure you, there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with you either, if you would only open your eyes and allow yourself to see!"

Suddenly unbearably weary, Mary sank down onto the edge of the bed, staring imploringly into his eyes as she continued to speak.

"Could you not tell that I was _happy_ with you?! That your so-called deficiencies haven't affected my feelings for you or my desire to call you my own? And if that makes me crazy, then so be it. I seem to recall you reading some sonnet or other that equated love to madness. So, maybe I am mad! But I _was _happy! I _am_ happy that we're married, and I'm not sorry for it."

For a moment, shock rendered Matthew mute. He'd never seen his calm, collected wife speak so demonstratively or forcefully before.

"Well, you haven't seemed exactly...happy. As I recall, you've been a bit out of sorts these past few weeks," he retorted at last, realizing that he was quickly approaching the end of his ability to argue with her, though he couldn't exactly explain why he felt the need to be combative, why he wasn't ready to surrender and simply accept the truth. A part of him - albeit a rapidly shrinking part - was still afraid of what it would mean if he did.

"I am sorry for that," Mary answered quietly, daring to take a step closer to him. "Again, it wasn't you. It was just..._me_. I...I do understand that I've behaved selfishly; that I've...not been honest with you. I never stopped to wonder if _you_ wanted to be married to _me_. I took advantage of your kind nature, and for that I am truly sorry."

Matthew felt his lips curve up in a sad smile at her words. His Mary was such a mystery, even standing before him, baring her heart as she was.

"Oh, my dear. You know perfectly well how I feel about you. How I've always felt about you."

"Do I?" Mary asked hopefully, looking long and hard into his eyes, seeking confirmation.

Matthew returned her gaze, knowing his heart was in his eyes. He loved her so desperately. Of course, he did. He always had. But it didn't change the fact that she had deceived him, however good her intentions. He had never known Mary to be anything less than forthright, and it challenged everything he thought he knew about her. Twice in the space of little over a week he'd learned that she'd tried to conceal something vital from him. What else might she yet be concealing? And - damn it all! - why could he not simply accept her love and be happy? He'd missed her so desperately. Missed her touch and her kisses and her tender solicitude. But there still seemed to be so much yet unsaid between them. And he knew that loving him wasn't good for Mary. It all seemed so unbelievable, still. Her words offered water in the dry, parched desert that his heart had become, but his mind had been telling him it was only a mirage for so long. Could he truly reach out and take it now? Accept the reality of the gift she offered, no matter how little he deserved it?

A gentle touch on his shoulder made him start. Mary was by his side. He hadn't even noticed her approach.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently, stroking lightly over the fabric of his coat.

Matthew nodded perfunctorily, his mind still reeling from shock and consternation.

"Perhaps we should try to sleep," Mary offered solicitously. "We can talk again in the morning."

Another nod.

Summoning all her courage, Mary reached for his hand, and said,

"If you'd like, you're welcome to sleep in here again. I...I'd like you to. I've missed you terribly."

Matthew tugged his hand away and scrubbed it over his face, confusion and doubt waring with the desire and love inside him, making coherent thought impossible.

"I just...need to be alone for a moment, I think."

Resignedly, Mary nodded and stepped away, her heart sinking at his closed expression. She watched sadly as he wheeled himself to the dressing room door, pulling it open.

"One thing," he began before he exited, turning his head slightly in her direction. "Is there anything else you're keeping from me, or was that all? If there _is_ anything, you must tell me now."

"That was all," Mary answered quickly, her voice rough with suppressed emotion. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"I..." a deep sigh escaped him as he blinked away the threatening moisture. "Of course, I will. You know I could never despise you. I love you far too much for that."

She waited until the door closed behind him to allow her relieved tears to escape.

* * *

**_A/N2:_ **_Please don't worry that Matthew will keep pushing her away. He won't, but it wouldn't have been in character for him to immediately fall into her arms. He needs a moment to take it all in. But, I promise the next chapter will be full of happiness and maybe even a little fluff for good measure. :) We're over the most major hurdle to happiness, so it's all uphill from here, though the challenges and surprises are far from over. But, at least, now they'll face whatever comes, the good things and the hard things, as a united front. :)_

_Thanks for reading! _


	34. Chapter 34

_Chapter 34_

Matthew sighed and dropped his head into his hands. Mary's quiet sobs from the other side of the door tore at his heart, but he resisted the urge to offer her comfort. He needed to _think._ And the knowledge that...that her tears were born of love...How could he possibly think logically when his heart threatened to drown him in a flood of undeserved but unfettered joy? But could he trust in that joy? He wasn't even sure he could trust Mary any more, and it broke his heart to even think it.

Up until the previous week, he would have sworn that Mary was one of the most honest, forthright people he knew, but this conviction had been given a very firm shaking as revelation after revelation hit. She had played him for a fool for...well, most of their acquaintance, never being truly honest with him - until that night. Or so he thought. She had never actually lied outright, simply omitted the truth when it suited her.

Years ago, she had allowed him to believe she wasn't in love with him rather than tell him the truth about Mr. Pamuk. More recently, she had kept her true feelings from him and told him what he needed to hear to agree to marry her, repeating her half-truths aloud multiple times over the months since their engagement was formed. Then she had tried to keep the arrival of the real heir from him, untimely leading to the exposure of the entire truth. Even if she had done all that she had out of love...he wasn't sure that excused it.

But Mary _loved him_! She had always cared for him and wished to be with him! His heart wanted to sing for joy at the thought. If not for that horrible dead Turk, she would have accepted him years ago. Regret and sadness for the years and the happiness they had lost briefly made his breath hitch, but he forced that morose train of thought away. Hating the past wouldn't change it. Besides, they were together _now_. As she'd said, she'd tried to make things right between them - as they should be. He believed he was justified in his concern about her methods but...Mary - his Mary! - had planned, _schemed_ almost, just so that she could be with him. And in his broken condition...It was almost too incredible to be true.

Another memory came to him then, from a time he thought had been put out of his mind for good. Mary's words...once brushed aside, now full of new meaning...

_"And, if they should just want to be with you? on any terms?"_

His eyes filled with tears as, for the first time, he recognized the love in her eyes and in her voice as she spoke those words. So much tenderness and longing, and he could scarcely believe that he could ever deserve such devotion. It seemed impossible, even with the evidence clearly before his eyes.

_"No one sane would want to be with me..."_

He cringed at the memory of his own words, so cold and dismissive of her heartfelt sentiments. Was it any wonder she had acted as she had? Perhaps he had driven her to it by his own stubborn, foolish pride. For pride it was. He was forced to admit it. He was used to being independent and self-sufficient. Accepting that Mary still loved and wanted him despite his shortcomings would humble him, strip away the last vestiges of pride that remained. But, if he could accept his value in her eyes, perhaps he would find something much more valuable in return.

Matthew had always felt as though he should earn whatever he had in life. He realized then that he had felt the need to somehow earn Mary's love. It was difficult to accept what she gave so freely, knowing he couldn't earn it, couldn't deserve it. He could only accept it and try, with everything he still had in him, to show her his love in return. Love was all he had to give, but, for Mary, he certainly had an abundance of it. If his love was what she wanted, she would have it, without question.

And she was right, he thought, to know that, had she told him the truth before their marriage, he would have pushed her away. What a terrible mistake it would have been! The truth was, he needed her. Needed her strength and her goodness, her determination and her courage. It still worried him to think of the way she'd kept so many things from him, but he knew he had to try to make it right now. Of course, they were still going to lose Downton, but...perhaps, with _love_ now being the glue that bound them together, everything would be all right. Better than all right. Even in a hopeless, impossible situation, they'd managed to find love. If that were possible, perhaps anything was.

"Matthew Crawley, you're a bloody fool," he muttered under his breath, smiling self-depreciatingly as he wheeled himself over to the bell pull. Mary had asked him to sleep next to her, had told him she _wanted_ him to. What a fool he was to sit stewing in his dressing room when he could be in her arms!

Bates assisted him into the ridiculous pink striped pajamas Mary had given him. He wasn't sure how well he looked in them, but he hoped Mary would see it as the gesture it was.

Several deep breaths were needed after he heard the door in the next room close behind Anna. He hadn't told Mary for sure that he was coming, and he couldn't be certain that she still wanted him. Perhaps, after everything, she'd rather be alone, but...he wanted to hold her so desperately much. _Needed_ it. He felt almost as nervous as he had on their wedding night, but he forced himself to gather enough courage to knock on the door.

"Mary?" he called softly.

"Come in," she answered a moment later, her voice as calm and serene as it always was. It was an interesting contrast to the strange attack of nerves he was experiencing.

She was behind the screen, as always, waiting for Bates to lift him into the bed. As soon as that was accomplished, he excused Bates and...waited.

"Mary?" he asked softly, waiting with bated breath for her to emerge.

When she finally did, his heart flipped. She was wearing the same pink nightgown she had worn on their wedding night, but, somehow, she appeared even more beautiful to him than she had then. He would never have thought it possible.

Mary blushed a little under his scrutiny, clasping her hands in front of her.

"I..." she started to explain, "I haven't worn it since the wedding, and thought it would be a shame to let it sit, unused."

"Yes, it certainly would be," Matthew responded, finding his tongue. "You're lovely."

Mary smiled and stepped slowly towards him, searching his face for any indication of his feelings. He opened his arms to her, and she fell into them, burying her face against his neck.

"Am I forgiven?" she asked hopefully, her warm breath heating his skin.

"Yes, of course you are," he answered, tightening his hold on her waist. "But, my darling, you must promise that you won't keep anything else from me, not ever. I want us always to be open and honest with one another."

Mary drew back slightly, meeting his eyes.

"Well...if I promise that, then you must promise to be...reasonable."

Matthew chuckled heartily at her insinuation. Yes, he had been somewhat unreasonable in the past, he had to admit. He wasn't sure he would ever be completely rational where Mary was concerned, but, for her sake, he was willing to try.

"I promise to try, my love," he answered with an arch smile, lifting her hands to his lips for several devoted kisses. "Now, get in. I cannot tell you how much I've missed having you in my arms."

"I may have some idea," Mary flirted as she pulled back the covers and crawled over him, straddling his lap.

Matthew gasped as her slender legs came into view, then her hips as his hands slid under the silk of her nightdress, moving up to stroke her sides. He brushed his fingers over the soft, dark hair that covered her sex, and she trembled, her sigh lost in his open mouth as they came together in all the ways they could.

It was frantic, explosive. They'd been too long without each other, and, suddenly the physical limitations didn't matter. There was still the thrill of bare skin slipping over bare skin; those deep, intimate touches in secret places reserved for only each other. The sharing and merging of the senses: of sight, taste, sound...of touch. Of whispered words of love that were so new and yet so achingly familiar.

And as Mary held his face in her hands, placing tender kisses on each of his features, she told him how beautiful he was to her still, and how her body ached with desire whenever he was near. He responded with a groan and a firm tweak of her breast that sent her spiraling again into perfect, uninhibited ecstasy, because he could finally accept her words and her desires. He would never fully understand or think that he could ever deserve her, but perhaps he would have felt the same regardless of the circumstances. No matter the reason she had seen fit to bestow her regard on him, he was grateful for it. Tremendously so. His own arousal throbbed in his veins, making him feel more alive and more _whole_ than he ever had.

When, several minutes later, Mary lay in blissful exhaustion in his arms, her head tucked into the curve of his neck, they spoke of the future.

"Your father mentioned something about an estate further north that we might consider," Matthew explained, eager to have a plan for their future settled. He wanted Mary to have confidence, to feel secure.

"Matthew, we haven't lost Downton yet," Mary responded firmly, turning more onto her side so that she could see his face. "I know this man is an impostor. I'll fight him every step of the way, and Papa will too. He won't succeed."

"But...could you still be happy if he _does_?"

Pushing up on her elbows, Mary hovered over him, fixing him with her best disapproving glare.

"Matthew Crawley, have you been paying any attention to me at all?"

"A very great deal of attention, as I recall," Matthew teased with a playful caress of her bottom.

Despite herself, Mary smiled fondly down at him, her pique momentarily subsiding.

"Seriously, Matthew, you mustn't say things like that," she continued after a moment's pause. "Of course, I would still be happy that we're together. You're more important to me than Downton is."

Matthew's eyebrows shot up at her words.

"If someone had told me six years ago that you would one day say those words to me, I would have taken them for a fool."

"Well, it wasn't true then, I'm afraid, but things changed. _I_ changed. Things...happened that changed me." There was a brief pause as Mary fiddled with the ends of her hair, her expression pensive. "I suppose I...learned to distinguish the things that are truly important from the things that aren't."

"I said something similar myself once," Matthew responded, "about the war."

Seeing the haunted look that clouded his previously bright eyes at the mention of the war, Mary quickly diverted his attention.

"Well, it's over now, thank God. In two days, it'll be official. Then you can pack your uniforms away for good."

"I will be glad of that." Matthew stroked her soft cheek with the back of his hand as he allowed the painful memories to fade, replacing them with thoughts of the beautiful woman in his arms - his wife, Mary, who _loved him_.

"Mary, I...I don't know what's going to happen down the line," he spoke again, his voice a soft caress. "Many things are still uncertain. But there is one thing of which I am absolutely sure, and that is...that I will love you...until the last breath leaves my body."

"Oh, darling," Mary sighed, resting her head on his chest. "Me too."

They held each other close for a long moment. Matthew pressed several kisses on her fragrant hair, almost unable to bear the ache of tenderness in his chest.

Mary lay close to his side, her temple pillowed on his shoulder as she gently ran her fingers through his hair. His face eventually relaxed in sleep, freeing her to try to sleep also.

She sighed quietly as she curled into his warm chest. It would seem that the knowledge of her love hasn't magically fixed all of his problems. He still bore scars, both mentally and physically, from the war. She would still need to hold him when he awakened in a cold sweat after a night terror, and provide a distraction whenever his mind seemed to wander back to unpleasant images. But she had faith that, one day at a time, he would begin to leave the past and all its sorrows and fears behind for good And she would be right there with him every step of the way.

* * *

Anna quietly pushed open the door, peeking inside and smiling at the sight before her. She knew of Captain Crawley's troubles. Of course, she knew. Everyone did. But her mistress was curled up very close to his side, and there was a pile of discarded night clothes on the floor beside the bed. Even without... all that, they were still very much in love. Her heart ached at the beauty of it, and she thought of her own dear Mr. Bates and her hopes for their future. Lady Mary was a lucky woman to have the man she loved. Anna understood it. She had him in all the ways that mattered most.

She placed the tray on the table beside the bed and opened the drapes, letting the late morning sunshine flood the room.

Mary and Matthew both stirred. Matthew was a little alarmed to be caught in Mary's bed and..._en deshabille_.

"Good morning, Anna," Mary greeted the maid quietly, pulling the sheet a little higher over Matthew's blushing torso.

"Morning, milady, Captain Crawley. I'm sorry to awaken you both, but Lord Grantham asked me to give you the good news."

"Oh? What news is that?"

"He's gone, milady. Lieutenant Gordon is gone."

* * *

On the morning of the eleventh of November, Mary entered her husband's dressing room to find Bates just finishing up with the final buckles on his uniform. He smiled at her as soon as she entered, his eyes taking on an appreciative gleam as he took in her appearance. She had worn what he had praised as her prettiest blouse, the one with the pink flowers that she had worn the day of the concert. It was sure to be an emotional day for him, and she had wanted to do everything, even the smallest things, she could to make it easier.

"Thank you, Bates. That will be all," Matthew spoke.

"Yes, sir. Do you think it's the last time you'll put it on?"

"I certainly hope so," Matthew answered, his smile falling just a bit.

His expression brightened again when they were alone, and he extended a hand in Mary's direction, which she promptly took.

"You look very lovely this morning."

"Thank you. I know you'll be glad when you can put your uniforms away for good, but you do look terribly handsome in them."

There was silence for a moment as she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"Are you ready?" she asked softly.

"I think so," Matthew answered, playing distractedly with her fingers. "I'm certainly ready for the war to be officially behind us."

He paused, but looked as though he wanted to continue. Mary held his hand patiently as he searched for the words.

"There are just so many of them, Mary. So many who didn't make it." She placed her other hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "The trouble with a good memory, you see," he continued, "is that I remember all of their names and faces. I remember the family members they spoke of, and what their hobbies were. I remember which were fathers...husbands...So many men who I blew the whistle that sent them charging to their deaths."

"Matthew, none of it was your fault. You mustn't think that way."

"I know it wasn't...my fault, exactly." He blinked several times in rapid succession, fighting to suppress his emotions. "But, as their leader, I did feel...responsible for them."

"I'm sure you did all you could," Mary admonished, her voice firm but gentle, "but you couldn't have prevented their deaths, Matthew. Your conscience is clear."

He sighed heavily and looked up into his wife's concerned face, his mind replaying images of the past two days since he'd learned of her love until contentment drove away his dark musings for the time being.

At eleven minutes after eleven, he sat as straight as he could, Mary's comforting presence at his side, as they paused for a moment of silence as the war finally reached its official end. As soon as the party broke apart, Mary's hand was on his shoulder, eager to reassure him.

"Would you like to rest for a while, darling?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, thank you," he answered with a grateful smile.

Before they could slip away, Isis and Puck bolted into the room, each heading straight for their respective masters. Matthew's face instantly lit up at the dog's appearance.

"Well, hello, you!" he greeted the exuberant pup who placed his front paws eagerly on the footrest of Matthew's chair.

Mary lifted him quickly onto Matthew's lap. "There you are," she said as she moved behind them to wheel Matthew to the bedroom. "Bates, would you mind joining us? Captain Crawley will require your assistance."

"Certainly, milady," Bates answered, moving to follow them at a respectful distance.

Matthew, however, heard none of this. His brow creased with concentration as he focused on the little tingles that spread from where Puck's small paws were placed on his thighs. He could almost imagine that he felt weight..pressure. His brows knitted further together as a strange prickling sensation spread through his lower half. What could it possibly mean?

"Darling, is anything the matter?"

He looked up into Mary's concerned eyes and forced his tense brow to relax.

"Nothing to worry you, my love. It's just that I thought..." His voice trailed off as he tried to focus on the strange sensations again. He knew he _had _felt them, but...they seemed to have vanished. He no longer felt Puck's movements. Perhaps he had imagined it all. But he had been so certain...

Resolving not to say anything to Mary until he felt it again, Matthew assured her everything was perfectly fine.

As Mary napped in his arms, Matthew suddenly discovered that he didn't need to look down to know that Mary's leg was draped over his. He was almost certain he could feel it's weight, or rather a pricking sensation around the area where it rested. A moment later, the feeling was gone.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you all for reading! A huge shout out to Willa Dedalus for for being a wonderful support, as well as to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I didn't get around to responding to each review personally this week, but I do appreciate each and every one. :)


	35. Chapter 35

_**A/N:**_Well, here you go guys! It's a bit shorter than usual, but the next one may be longer than usual to make up for it. Sorry for the wait! And, as always, a huge thanks to Willa Dedalus for being the most wonderful LOAT cheerleader imaginable and to everyone who reviewed for all your kind words and encouragement. I didn't get a chance to reply to reviews (again. I know. It's terrible.), but do know that they are all so very much appreciated. :)_  
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_Chapter 35_

The day after the armistice, Mary had Bates bring down an old trunk from the attic, and Isobel had Mosely bring over Matthew's suits from before the war. Mary sat quietly on the edge of the bed in the dressing room as Bates helped Matthew into his old clothing.

"They're a bit large on you now," she commented after Bates left them alone, noting that there seemed to be a good deal of extra fabric around his middle.

"Too large and too small at the same time," Matthew laughed, adjusting the taut fabric over his shoulders.

"Oh, dear," Mary sighed. "We'll have to order some new things for you soon."

"I'm sure it won't be necessary, darling," Matthew responded playfully. "I feel like all I do nowadays is sit around and eat. I may grow rather fat. What would you think then?"

"I think... there would be more of you to love." Mary placed a light kiss of his cheek and stroked one hand over his hair, basking in the warmth of his boyish grin.

The mood turned somber when they began their task of packing away Matthew's uniforms. They could have had Bates or Mosley do it, but Mary and Matthew seemed to have formed an unspoken agreement to do it themselves, almost as a final goodbye to the war and all it had meant for them: a laying-to-rest of the painful past and a transition into their happy future together.

Mary watched as Matthew neatly folded each piece (which he really was rather good at) before arranging everything in the trunk. She held his scarlet jacket in her hands for a long moment, remembering how the sight of him in it had kept her awake for many nights after he'd gone, nearly in tears with unrequited desire.

"I'll still need to wear it on occasion," Matthew said, seeing the wistful look on her face.

When all the pieces of his uniforms were lined up neatly in the trunk, Mary handed him the final item, watching as he turned it over in his long fingers.

"Shall we pack him away with all the rest of your war memories?" she asked gently, a small, nostalgic smile tugging at her lips at the memory of handing him the little dog at the train station.

"No, let's not," Matthew answered after a moment's contemplation. "He may yet bring us some luck."

* * *

The next few days were some of the happiest Matthew could remember experiencing in a long, long time. The new openness between himself and Mary was incredibly liberating, as was the knowledge that their future was, once again, secure. Yet, somehow, it wasn't the overwhelming relief it could have been, now that he knew Mary would have stood by him no matter the outcome. They would have made a life together regardless of whether Downton was in their future or not.

And they would be happy. They were already happy. Their marriage certainly wasn't passionless, as he might have thought any marriage made in his current condition would have been. No, there was a great deal of passion there. It was truly astonishing. They were both incredibly blessed, he was forced to admit. The one dark spot that remained to blight their joy was the ever-present knowledge that the love and the closeness they shared would never bear fruit. They would never be parents. It was a sad knowledge, but Matthew tried not to think about it overmuch. He tried to be grateful for what he did have - his life, Mary's love, and her constant companionship. It would have been unforgivably greedy of him to wish for more.

If the family was surprised to see the happy, almost exultant, smiles on Mary and Matthew's faces so soon after over a week of sullenness and separation, they didn't comment. Most attributed the change to the disappearance of the would-be Patrick Crawley, but Matthew sometimes caught a knowing look on Robert's face as his eyes flitted back and forth between his face and Mary's, a smile that Matthew might almost call sentimental tugging at his lips.

For several days following the wonderful changes in their relationship, Mary noticed an alteration in Matthew's behavior that she couldn't attribute to their newfound mutual regard. Sometimes, unexpectedly, his brow would crease and he would look off into the distance, almost as though he were trying to deduce the answer to a particularly perplexing riddle. At first, she had been concerned that these sudden silences were harbingers of impending meltdowns, but soon found this not to be the case. After a moment, he would look up again, seemingly back to normal. She'd asked him once or twice if anything was the matter, but he was always quick to reassure her that everything was as it should be.

On one such occasion, he had even dropped his fork at the dinner table, causing everyone to pause their conversations to see what had startled him. After the rest of the family had gone up to bed, Matthew expressed a desire to have a nightcap in the private library, and she had seen her opportunity to raise the subject.

"Darling," she began, standing contemplatively in the middle of the small area, sipping delicately on her brandy.

"Hm?"

"Is everything...quite alright? You took a rather strange turn at dinner earlier. We were all worried."

Matthew smiled indulgently at her, feeling a great deal more interested in the many charms of his beautiful wife than in discussing his recent preoccupation.

"Mary, I'm fine. Everything is fine. Now," he held out the hand that wasn't cradling his own glass, "come and kiss me."

As tempting as the offer was, Mary wasn't going to be put off so easily.

"I know you, Matthew Crawley. Something's going on in that thick head of yours, and I want to know what," she demanded, a playful smile belying her fierce tone.

"My darling, it's...it's nothing, really. There has been...a great deal of change lately. It's been a lot to take in, however wonderful."

Mary's brow furrowed, not completely satisfied with his vague answer, but not wanting to push him further that night. Deciding to accede to his request - well, perhaps more of a demand - she placed her tumbler on a table and sauntered slowly towards him, bending at the waist to take his face in her hands for a soft, lingering kiss.

Matthew hummed happily against her lips, though he was far from satisfied. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her down onto his lap, placing a series of warm, wet kisses along the backs of her shoulders and the long line of her neck.

"I love these little hairs that can't quite be contained," he whispered against her skin, brushing his fingers teasingly along her nape.

Mary sighed and pushed instinctually back against him, bringing her body flush against his.

Matthew stiffened and gasped lightly as he felt - or thought he felt - her body pressing against him..._there._ Suddenly, he had a great urge to rub up against her - not that he could. Still, just the instinct to do so was something entirely new in his changed situation. Mary shifted in his hold, and a new sensation hit: an intense tingling reminiscent of the return of blood flow to a limb that's been asleep for some time. It was almost painful, but lasted no more than a few seconds - still long enough for Mary to notice the change in his mood.

"Matthew, what is it?" she asked, turning to face him. He smiled appeasingly at her concerned look, no longer imagining he felt her weight or her warmth against him. The discomfort had also stopped. He truly didn't want her to be concerned. It was, most likely, nothing.

"I believe... I may have had too much to drink tonight, dearest. That's all," he answered evasively. "Shall we retire?"

With a look that made it clear that she didn't believe a word of it, Mary took his glass from his hand and placed it on the table beside her own before wheeling him to his dressing room and ringing for Anna and Bates to attend them.

* * *

Matthew awoke to the sounds of another person in their bedroom. His years in the army had taught him to wake ready for anything at the slightest noise, and his eyes immediately shot open. It was only Daisy, her slight form crouched in front of the fireplace. The weather had finally turned cold, and it was again necessary that all the fires be kept going.

As she worked, the black mourning band around her slender arm caught Matthew's eye, and his brow creased with sadness as he thought of William and all his young friend had left behind. His arms reflexively tightened around Mary, who was curled up next to him, her face nestled against his neck. He turned his head to nuzzle her soft hair, breathing in her comforting scent.

For perhaps the first time, he realized how truly grateful he was that he had survived, that he had come back to Mary. How he wished William had come back as well. Mary had reminded him before that they couldn't say "should" about war, and that he couldn't expect everything to be fair, but, at that moment, watching Daisy stand and collect her things to leave the room, he couldn't help but focus on her arm band and all that it represented. All the men who never came home to their sweethearts. William and so many others were lying in the cold, uncaring earth while he lay in the arms of his loving wife. What had he done to deserve it that they hadn't? Why should he be the lucky one?

He hadn't even realized the sad moans that filled the room were his own until Mary stirred, her hands automatically moving to comfortingly stroke his face and hair.

"Did you have a nightmare, darling?"

"No," he answered, fighting to compose himself. "I was just...thinking about William. About so many of my men, really. And, I...I can't help feeling that some of them deserved to live more than I did, but here I am, and they..."

Mary stopped his mouth in the way she had discovered worked best - by pressing her lips tenderly to his.

"Darling, you mustn't think about that," she spoke firmly when their lips separated. "I, for one, am very happy that you're here. So is Papa, and your mother. Even Sybil, Edith, and Granny. We all love you so very dearly."

Mary smiled against his lips as he pulled her down for another kiss, seeking the reassurance of their intimate affection.

"I do love you so terribly much," he breathed against her cheek, his arms holding her close.

"And I you," Mary replied, her fingers pushing aside his long forelock where it had flopped over his forehead.

The next morning found Matthew at the breakfast table with Robert, Mary having finally decided to exercise her privilege as a married woman and have breakfast in bed.

"Is anything the matter, Robert?" he asked, noticing his father-in-law's tense brow.

"Oh, nothing to trouble you over, Matthew. Cora and your mother have been at odds again."

"What's it about this time?" Matthew couldn't help feeling a bit of amusement at the news. His mother couldn't seem to help poking her nose into places it wasn't wanted, but he adored her for it.

"Isobel seems to think that we should keep Downton running as a convalescent home indefinitely, but Cora's chomping at the bit to have things back to normal. I'm afraid I have to take Cora's side in this. The war is over. It's time these men left to find their places out in the world, and it would be nice to have use of the whole house again."

"But, Robert, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to keep it running for a few months more, at least. Mary and I could help run it. It would be nice to have an occupation..."

"I can give you plenty to do helping with the estate, if you need an occupation, Matthew," Robert interrupted, clearly becoming irritated with the direction the conversation was taking. "Since we've lost so many farm workers to the war, we'll need to..."

"But what if Mother is right? What if there is still a need for places like this? And, you can't very well expect things to go back to exactly the way they were before..."

"Matthew, I'm afraid it isn't up for discussion. When the house is yours, you'll be free to do with it as you choose. For now, Downton is still mine and Cora's, so we will decide how it is to be run and whom is allowed to remain in it."

Bristling from Robert's dismissal, Matthew replied,

"Well, perhaps I should go, too. I'm quite recovered enough to move back to Crawley House - my 'place in the world,' as you so eloquently put it. I'll ask Mary to make the arrangements. We'll be out of your hair in no time so that things around here can _return to normal_."

"No, Matthew, please. Don't take offense. I assure you, none was intended," Robert spoke quickly, surprised by Matthew's sarcastic tone. "I really do wish you and Mary would stay on indefinitely. You must know, I had no notion of you leaving when the others do."

Matthew forced himself to remain calm and uncurled his fingers from around the wheels of his chair.

"I'm sorry, Robert, I...I suppose I'm a little on edge this morning."

Matthew was feeling a bit irritable, it was true. The strange pains in his legs and lower back had kept him awake for a good portion of the night, though he'd remained stubbornly still and silent, not wanting to wake Mary. He was truly beginning to wonder if he wasn't imagining things; if, perhaps, there was something more to the sensations he was experiencing than his brain remembering what his body could no longer feel. This was entirely different. In addition to being sleep deprived, he was also worried. What could it mean?

"Please don't apologize, Matthew. We've all been a little on edge lately. Perhaps a walk after we finish eating will clear both our heads."

Matthew smiled and accepted Robert's invitation. He was truly beginning to wonder and to hope - despite his better judgment's frantic protests against the dangerous emotion - that, some day, he might be able to enjoy walks, in the real sense of the word, once again. He didn't know how it was possible...No, it _wasn't_ possible. He'd been assured of that by two different doctors. But how did he explain what he was so sure he was now feeling?

Again, he pondered the possibility of sharing any of these suspicions with Mary, but quickly rejected the idea. He couldn't get anyone's hopes up until he was certain that what he felt was real.

* * *

_Thank you all so much for reading! If you have a moment, I'd love to know what you thought. Your reviews inspire me more than you know. :)_


	36. Chapter 36

_**A/N:**_Happy Remembrance Day, everyone! Not Downton Day anymore, though. :( Hopefully this somewhat softens the blow of the first day without a new episode. _  
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Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Many thanks also to Willa Dedalus for letting me ramble on and being a wonderful support.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 36

The air in their bedroom was humid, almost stifling, despite the chill of winter's onset.

Mary let out another helpless groan as she felt his tongue slip inside her, the vibrations of his own aroused moans sending waves of sensation all the way down to her toes. Leaning forward, she grasped onto his thighs as an anchor, balancing herself as she undulated over him.

Matthew's eyes flew open as he felt pressure on his legs and hips - Mary's hands, sliding so gloriously over the slick material of his pajama trousers. He knew it, though all he could see was the graceful line of her back, her long, lustrous waves loose around her shoulders. Just little pin-pricks and a hint of warmth, so easily dismissed as imagination or wishful thinking...and he did so want it to be real.

Mary shuddered above him, and he knew she was getting close. The movement of her hips became increasingly erratic, and he redoubled his efforts, sucking gently, then firmly, on her swollen folds until she cried his name in ecstasy. His hands firmly gripped her hips as she rode out her pleasure, almost unwilling to relinquish their intimate connection once she had peaked. He placed one last kiss on her slippery core before allowing her to move.

Feeling unequal to anything more than simply flopping down onto the bed, Mary did just that. She rested her head on her husband's thigh and slowly traced one foot up and down his arm, relishing his sweet little sighs as he continued to breathe heavily for several minutes. Once sufficiently recovered, Mary curled up in her usual place beside him and pulled the blankets around them. His arms encircled her, and she couldn't stop herself from crawling over him for another kiss. She moaned as she recognized her own flavor on his mouth.

"Darling," she gasped out between kisses, "I'm terribly selfish and greedy, but...I already want to do that again."

"Mmmm...Then come here."

Another sigh, and she placed herself completely over him, rubbing her body tantalizingly against his bare torso. She whimpered as his hands come up to cup her breasts, massaging each firmly before raising his head to take, first one, then the other hardened tip into his mouth. His fingers brushed teasingly over her center, and she saw stars. In only moments, she collapsed over him in delicious lethargy.

"God, Mary..." His breath was hot against her neck. The desire and the love in his whispered endearments warmed her heart. He was too good to her.

"I have been terribly selfish tonight, my love. I should let you sleep."

"No," he reassured her, reaching up to take her pleasure-flushed face between his hands. "No, darling, please don't ever hide your desires from me. You don't know how good it makes me feel...that you still want me."

"You don't know how good _you_ make _me_ feel," Mary purred, smiling suggestively down at him. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Mary. Thank you for making me feel like a man again."

Mary shook her head fondly at his unlooked-for gratitude. As he if couldn't see how selfish she truly was.

"Matthew, you didn't need me to do that. Don't be ridiculous."

Knowing it was futile to argue, Matthew only chuckled as she tucked her head under his chin, holding her tightly against his side.

* * *

The next morning, Mary helped Matthew back into his pajama shirt and rang for Bates while she sipped on the tea Anna had brought her.

"You could stay and have breakfast in bed with me this morning," she suggested with a flirtatious smile as she ran her fingers through his rumpled hair.

"As tempting as that sounds, darling, I promised your father we could go over some things this morning. There's been a dispute between two of the tenants, and he wants to discuss possible solutions. We also need to formulate a plan for shutting down the convalescent home in an orderly manner."

"So it's decided then. You couldn't convince Papa to keep it open?"

"I'm afraid not," Matthew answered, frowning slightly. "But, he does have a point. It isn't our house yet."

Mary pursed her lips tightly before prying them apart to take another sip of her tea. She knew Matthew and her father hadn't seen eye to eye on more than one occasion, and it concerned her. Both men were special to her. It wasn't easy to have to take sides. With the end of the war, Matthew had been talking about the great changes that were coming and the need for modernization and keeping up with the times. Her father was somewhat less than thrilled that his pupil seemed to have a great many ideas of his own.

Bates entered before there could be any further discussion, and Matthew leaned over to give her a soft kiss on the cheek before allowing the valet to lift him into his chair. Almost as soon as Matthew was seated, a pained hiss escaped him as a sudden surge of sensation engulfed his lower body in a million tiny pin-pricks.

"Are you alright, Captain Crawley?" Bates asked, placing a concerned hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"Yes, fine," Matthew answered tensely as he gritted his teeth through the worst of the discomfort.

Mary studied his face as he blinked rapidly and the muscles of his jaw worked under his flushed skin. He'd been evading her requests to know what had been bothering him for over a week, and she had taken as many of his denials as she was able to tolerate.

"Bates, please leave us."

"Yes, milady."

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, but one glance from Mary was enough for him to shut it again. He mentally cursed himself for not being able to hide his reaction from her. He didn't want Mary to be worried for him, nor did he want to have to try to explain what he was experiencing. If he said it aloud - if he dared voice his hopes aloud - that would make them more real, more undeniable. And, if nothing ever came of them, he wouldn't be the only one disappointed. More than anything else, he didn't want to be a disappointment to Mary.

As soon as the door closed behind Bates, Mary spoke, her tone calm, yet firm.

"Matthew, I don't think you can reasonably deny that something's been bothering you anymore."

"It really is nothing, Mary. _Nothing_," he retorted, rubbing his tense forehead with the pads of his fingers.

"It didn't sound like nothing," she shot back, sitting up a little straighter against the headboard.

"My darling, I'm asking you...to trust me. It's _nothing_."

"You're the one who said you wanted us to always be open and honest with one another. Or was it that you only wanted _me_ to be an open book? because you seem to have very little intention of following your own directive."

Discreetly, Matthew squeezed his thighs a little, trying to get any reaction or any of the fleeting tingles or twinges he'd been experiencing, but there was nothing.

"Mary, I'm not going to argue about this. I'm sure it's only the...the many changes that have been happening recently. That's all."

"I don't think you're being honest with me," Mary shot back, at her wit's end with his evasions and excuses.

"You are, in no way, entitled to lecture me about honesty, Mary." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he felt the remorse hit as soon as they were said. Looking down at his lap, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, wanting to apologize, though a part of him still wanted to defend his position. What right did she have to be put out with him for keeping something from her when she had kept something of much greater importance from him for months on end, asking him to make a life-altering decision on the basis of incomplete information? No, she certainly didn't have any right to lecture him on honesty. It might be uncharitable of him, but it was the truth.

Mary was stunned. She blinked rapidly several times, trying to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing that his words had upset her.

"I cannot believe you...I thought you had forgiven me, that you understood. I see now that I was mistaken. You lied to me too."

"I..." he began, feeling too frustrated and even slightly guilty to argue further. "I have to meet your father soon."

With that, he wheeled himself to his dressing room and shut the door, leaving his frustrated and hurt wife open-mouthed in his wake.

* * *

The morning dragged by for both of them. Mary forced herself to remain composed enough to eat a few bites of her breakfast and to put on a brave face while Anna helped her dress, but she spent most of the morning sitting on the bench outside, an open book on her lap so that she could say she was reading if anyone were to happen by. She wasn't sure if she should be angry at Matthew, disappointed in him, or simply terribly hurt by his lack of trust. Of course, she didn't deserve what faith he did have in her, but it still hurt that, though he'd said that he had forgiven her, he clearly hadn't forgotten.

As for Matthew, he spent breakfast with Robert picking at his food and pretending to listen to Robert's cheerful chatter about nothing he could remember and fending off Sybil's gentle questions about how he was feeling. Sweet Sybil. She was so wonderfully perceptive; like her elder sister, he though.

After breakfast, he allowed Robert to push him into the private library where he mainly listened absently to the noise of the officers at their pastimes as Robert went on about investments. He knew he probably should be paying more attention, but something inside him had gone numb, and he couldn't seem to retrieve it.

When the tenants arrived to plead their cases before Lord Grantham, his attention was briefly engaged enough to offer his opinion of what should be done. It was a small, too-brief distraction from the stress his fight with Mary had caused, but it was enough to get him through the rest of the morning. When Robert placed him before the desk with an open ledger, however, his mind was free to wander once again. His companion had seated himself with an agricultural journal, so, save for a few unknown voices from the other side of the screens, the room was quiet. Even Puck and Isis were uncharacteristically silent, both curled up asleep on the rug.

For several minutes, he worked diligently on the figures before him, grateful that he had something with which to occupy his mind. He was headed for a meltdown. He could feel it building inside him; a deep emptiness and an irrational feeling of panic churned deep in his belly. His mind began to numb, the numbers on the page no longer held meaning. He knew he should ask Robert to fetch Mary, but how could he see her after what had passed between them?

A part of him felt great remorse for the things he had said to her, while another part - the part that was trying desperately to make him completely numb - wanted to be angry, to lash out at her for mistrusting him when she had done so much worse. The remorseful part fought back, reminding him that Mary had done what she had out of love; that he should be grateful for her, that he loved her and had forgiven her. Then the angry part would rise up again, telling him that he couldn't trust her, that he shouldn't. There was so little of his old, independent self left. He couldn't risk letting her, or anyone, take that away.

But...he needed her. He needed Mary.

He was weak for her. Matthew hated to be weak. This was war; weakness got men killed. He hated the vulnerable feeling that came with loving and trusting someone who had once violated that trust. And he hated that he didn't have a choice in the matter. Not loving Mary wasn't an option, neither was not trusting her. She was his wife, and, as such, deserved his trust, however difficult it was to give. And she wouldn't let him down. He had to believe that. She would always be there for him.

A dull tingling in his legs started, and he rested his palms on his thighs, trying, as he had during their argument, to be certain that he could feel the touch. Again, he could reach no definite conclusion. As much as he'd fought against them, stirrings of hope had begun to grow inside him. Hope that he might be regaining his ability to feel, to...function. Sometimes he was so sure he could feel things, but other times, he was convinced that it had been only a cruel illusion.

Suddenly, the sadness, the grief, and the shame that had been so blessedly held at bay since Mary's declaration of love came flooding to the forefront again. From there, it wasn't a great leap for his mind to conjure images and emotions pertaining to how he had come to be in his current state. So much fear and hopelessness; so much waste. He was unable to hide the tortured moan that escaped him, alerting Robert to his predicament.

"Matthew, is anything the matter?"

Though Matthew didn't answer, his hunched posture and the way he held his head in his hands, his shoulders quivering with the effort of not crying out, was familiar to Robert. He had seen it before.

Robert sighed, saddened to think that the man he loved as a son still suffered so grievously from the effects of the horror he had been put through. His brow creased as he pondered the terrible injustice of it, that someone as kind and gentle as his son-in-law was made to become violent; that a man who wasn't the slightest bit interested in hunting animals for sport had been forced to hunt human beings. And this man, this loving, tender-hearted person, had been broken inside and out, his future, as he had foreseen it, stripped from him in an instant. Tears clouded the earl's eyes as he stood and made his way to Matthew's side, laying a hand on his trembling shoulder.

Matthew felt the soft touch and focused on it, trying to anchor himself to the present. He was better at this than he used to be - better at retaining control of himself. He was hanging on by a thread, but, at least, he wasn't weeping openly. There was still some shred of dignity remaining in his hunched posture.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt himself being moved, his mind replaying images of fleeting moments of consciousness in a crowded ambulance; of shooting pains whenever the vehicle would hit a pothole too fast; of hundreds of tortured moans and the frightening realization that the loudest were his own.

There was a rustle of fabric, and then a soft voice pierced through the ringing in his ears. A small, warm hand covered his own, tugging it away from his face. He opened his eyes, and there she was.

_Mary._

"Mary..."

"It's alright now, darling. I'm here."

She stroked his hair as he gradually calmed, his clammy hands wrapping around her free one.

"How long has he been like this?" Mary asked Robert, who was still standing behind Matthew.

"Only a few minutes," the earl answered soberly. "He's been quiet all morning. I should have seen it coming."

"Thank you for bringing him to me, Papa," Mary answered softly, smiling up at her father before turning her attention back to Matthew.

As soon as Robert turned his back to walk back to the house, she seated herself in Matthew's lap and wrapped him in her embrace, her forehead pressed against his temple.

"It's alright. Everything is alright," she whispered soothingly to him as she waited for him to calm, a relieved smile warming her face as he blinked and, suddenly, _her_ Matthew had returned to her.

"Mary," he breathed, his voice quiet and strained. His arms came around her waist, and he turned his face into her fragrant neck, basking in the familiar scent of floral perfume and his own beloved wife. "I'm sorry, darling. I thought I was doing so much better."

"Don't you dare apologize for this," Mary shot back, her tone lovingly chastising. "And you have been doing better. Very, very much better. I'm so proud of you."

Mary tightened her arms around him as she fought back guilty tears. Her poor darling had had a meltdown - his first in weeks - because she had pushed him too hard that morning. Yes, he had said some things that had hurt her deeply; she wouldn't forget that. But she had known better than to push him, and she had anyway. It was obvious that something was weighing on his mind greatly. Oh, how she wished he would confide in her! It hurt deeply that he wouldn't, but, regardless, she would be there for him. He needed her, and she wouldn't let him down.

"I'm so sorry, Mary."

"I told you, don't..."

"No, I mean for this morning," he interrupted, lifting his head to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry for...for what I said. It was wrong of me to bring up the past."

Mary nodded, accepting his apology. She breathed a sigh of relief, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before extricating herself from his grasp, seating herself more conventionally on the bench next to him.

While she was happy that he had apologized, she couldn't be completely easy with the fact that he still hadn't volunteered any information about what troubled him. For the moment, she decided to let it go, but, for his own sake, she would try again the next day...and the next, and the next, until he was able to open up to her. If trust was something one had to earn, then she would earn his with her constancy.

* * *

Late that night when all the house was asleep, Mary drifted in and out of a light slumber as she held Matthew's hand tightly against her heart. His warm body was spooned against hers, his bare chest pressed deliciously against her bare back. She concentrated on each of his soft breaths as they brushed over her ear and soon began to drift off again.

_They were outside, walking next to each other as Matthew pushed his bicycle. He was so dear - so wonderfully, boyishly handsome - but she was so deeply frustrated and angry, so maddeningly incapable of righting the injustice that had been done her. _

_"My life makes me angry, not you..."_

A sudden nudge against her leg jolted her from her brief dream, and her eyes shot open. Realizing that there was nothing out of the ordinary, she allowed them to close, relaxing back against Matthew as sleep began its descent once again.

Before she could nod off, however, a perplexing thought intruded, jolting her back to full consciousness. What had awakened her? If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that Matthew had..._kicked_ her. But that was impossible. He couldn't have...

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she reached under the covers and rested her hand on his thigh, stroking and rubbing softly. He stirred and made a little humming noise in his sleep, which could, of course, be attributed to coincidence. Yes, of course, that's what it was. He couldn't possibly...But, then, his leg wasn't in the same position she'd placed it in when she'd helped him turn on his side. Perhaps she had simply shifted in her attempts to get comfortable and caused it to move. That had to be it. Anything else was simply...impossible.

Deciding that she had most certainly dreamt the entire episode - because the alternative was truly unthinkable - Mary lay awake for most of the night, absolutely _not_ waiting for it to happen again.

* * *

_Things are happening, folks! Matthew may or may not discover the truth in the next chapter. ;) I guess we'll have to wait and see!_


	37. Chapter 37

_**A/N:**_Happy Friday, everyone! Well, early Saturday morning for my readers across the pond. :) _  
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Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and for all the PMs and support. You're all just wonderful!

Lots of love to Willa Dedalus for being my sounding board. It is always so very appreciated. :D

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Chapter 37

The more Mary tried to convince herself that Matthew hadn't nudged her with his knee while asleep, the more she couldn't dismiss the incident from her thoughts. That, combined with the worrying changes in his behavior, had her very concerned for his well-being. When he grimaced in discomfort again the following day, she said nothing, but placed a hand on his arm, giving him an eloquent look. He knew she saw his preoccupation and wished to know what was wrong; she didn't have to say the words. When he, once again, tried to put on a brave face and dismiss her concerns, she only raised one delicate eyebrow and moved away.

She lay awake much of that night waiting for any further hints of movement from under the blankets, but, as she suspected, nothing happened. The next night, it was much the same. When she felt nothing on the third night, she was quite ready to dismiss the entire thing as a figment of her imagination.

On the forth night, however, it happened again.

The movement was so slight that she might have missed it if she hadn't been wide awake and lying so close to him. It was only a small spasm of the muscles of his upper thigh and a little jerk of his leg that lasted no more than a single instant, but she felt it unmistakably where her thigh was pressed against his.

She was still awake in the small hours of the morning when Matthew woke with a nightmare. Stroking his sweat-dampened hair and kissing away the few tears that trickled down his smooth cheeks was as soothing to her own ruffled nerves as the actions were to him. Soon, she was able to fall asleep, her head tucked securely beneath his chin.

When Matthew left her for his usual few hours with her father, Mary decided to search for answers. Matthew was ensconced in the study with her father; Edith, Sybil, and her mother were making arrangements for the departure of the officers. No one would miss her if she stepped out for a couple of hours.

Resolution set, she ordered the motor brought around and had Branson drive her to the hospital, where she immediately located Dr. Clarkson just finishing up his rounds.

"Lady Mary, what can I do for you? I hope all is well with the occupants of the Abbey?" he asked kindly.

"Dr. Clarkson," Mary began, twisting the handle of her handbag between her gloved fingers, "I was wondering if I might take a few minutes of your time. I know you're busy, but I have a rather...pressing question to ask. It's about my husband."

"I see. Very well, Lady Mary. If you'll just wait a few minutes, I have one last patient to see."

Mary nodded her agreement and turned to leave the ward. Before she went, she turned back for one final look at the room where she'd spent so many hours when Matthew had first arrived, broken and battered inside and out, but very much _alive_. She compared her mental image of his prone body in the small hospital bed to the handsome, robust man she'd sat across from at dinner the previous evening, exchanging furtive glances over the rims of wine glasses when they thought no one was looking. He had come so far, but there was still so much more she hoped to help him accomplish.

She was so lost in her thoughts, that she was almost startled when Dr. Clarkson lightly touched her elbow and asked her to follow him to his office.

"Please take a seat, Lady Mary," he offered, seating himself behind his desk and folding his hands in front of him. "Now, what is it I can do for you?"

"Dr. Clarkson," she began, "I'm concerned that Matthew's back might be hurting him. He hasn't said anything, but sometimes he seems uncomfortable or...distracted. He's also..."

Here she paused, suddenly unsure of herself. Dr. Clarkson would surely think she'd gone mad. To think that Matthew had experienced some movement in his legs was one thing; to say it aloud was another thing entirely.

"Yes?" the doctor gently prodded.

Mary gathered herself, sitting up straighter and setting her jaw determinately, daring him to mock her or think her an ignorant female. Mary Crawley was never unsure of herself.

"Three nights ago, he nudged me in his sleep...with his knee. Last night, I felt one of his legs sort of...quiver. I know I didn't imagine it."

A knowing look came over the doctor's wizened face, and he looked down at his joined hands. For a moment, Mary was surprised, braced and ready as she was, that he didn't immediately dismiss her claims. She was truly taken aback when he spoke.

"I have a letter here," he opened a drawer in the desk and removed a folded letter, "from Sir John. It was sent a few days after his examination of Captain Crawley."

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the fierce beating of Mary's heart as it whirred fiercely in her ears.

"It seems," Dr. Clarkson continued, "that Sir John was of the opinion that, given time, it isn't impossible that Captain Crawley might regain full use of his lower body."

Now Mary was truly stunned. For a moment, her mouth dropped open, and she quickly snapped it shut.

"I see. How?"

"Sir John wrote that, upon comparing his findings in Captain Crawley's case to others of his experience, that his spine might have been only bruised, rather than transected, and that, once the bruising heals and the pressure on the nerves releases, feeling and motor function might then return. There's no way to predict this with any certainty, of course, which is why I hesitated to share this information. I wouldn't want to give Captain Crawley false hope when we know so little about this type of injury."

"Of course not. Why ever would you want to do that?" Mary responded sarcastically, trying to retain her composure when, inwardly, she was seething with anger at the doctor for keeping such an enormous piece of information from them for so long while Matthew continued to suffer without hope. Then there was the other thing - the possibility that Matthew might be regaining the use of his legs. But, no, she wouldn't think about that yet. It was almost too wonderful to contemplate, certainly not with any equanimity.

"Sir John's letter - may I take it with me?" Mary asked, giving Clarkson a look that would brook no argument.

"I suppose so, Lady Mary," Clarkson said after a moment's hesitation, replacing the folded paper in its envelope and tossing it across the desk to Mary. "It might be of some help, considering the task I have for you to perform. In his letter, Sir John lists several possible signs that might offer further insight into your husband's changing condition. I'd like you to monitor him for the next several days and report back to me if things continue to escalate. Then we can make a decision on whether or not to give Captain Crawley the good news and conduct another examination."

Mary's eyebrows shot up as she retorted,

"Dr. Clarkson, are you suggesting that I keep this information from my husband?"

"I am recommending that you do so, yes," Clarkson answered. "I've witnessed first hand what disappointed hopes can do to a man in Captain Crawley's position, with some very tragic results."

"Ah, yes," Mary spoke, her voice deceptively calm. "Sybil told me about the blinded young man who took his own life. Tragic, indeed."

"So you see my point, Lady Mary."

"Actually, I wonder if it might have done him some good...to at least have a ray of hope, however false, to cling to until he'd had time to accustom himself to his condition. It might have saved his life."

"It's a difficult call to make, Lady Mary. I won't argue with you there. But, as a doctor, I do what I feel is right for my patients. It's all anyone can do."

Still reeling from the new information and her own turbulent emotions, Mary took the letter, thanked Dr. Clarkson as politely as she could manage, and left the hospital.

* * *

The day was chilly, but Mary found the biting November air a welcome distraction from her own emotions. She walked with her usual outward confidence through the streets of Downton Village, but, inside, she felt as though the earth on which she strode had turned to quicksand. A part of her was elated, while another was frightened. She was worried, yet thrilled. Hopeful, yet terrified of that hope. It was all terribly confusing.

More worrying was the thought that, if the news threw her into such a tumultuous state, what might it do to poor recovering Matthew? Her darling who still had night-terrors and meltdowns? who had asked her never to keep anything from him, yet was keeping such a potentially life-changing secret from her? Then again, she realized, he probably didn't understand what was happening to him. He deserved to know of the hope that Sir John had predicted. Of course he did. She only worried that it might cause him another setback. Conversely, it could also be a great stepping-stone on the road to his emotional recovery.

This was one area where she wasn't able to confidently predict his reaction. If he could accept it, he would be overjoyed, but...what if he couldn't accept it? The hope budding in her own heart was frightening to her, but to Matthew it would be so much more formidable.

If they had learned this information before, it might have been better. But to hear it only now, when he had made such strides in coming to terms with his condition...If he were to have his heart set on a full recovery and it never happened, they would have to start all over from square one. Matthew had already been through so much. She hated to see him suffer anything more.

She was so lost in her thoughts, that she almost missed the cheerful voice that called to her from the doorway of Crawley House.

"Mary! Mary, dear, won't you come and have some tea with your mother-in-law?"

"Good morning, Isobel," she replied politely, managing a smile for the older woman as she pushed open the gate and entered. "I'd love some. Thank you."

Mary allowed herself to be ushered into the warm, welcoming house. She handed her coat and hat to a cheerful Mosley, deciding at the last second to slip the letter from Sir John into her skirt pocket to show Isobel. She had been a great help with understanding Matthew before; perhaps she might be able to help her sort out how to tell him what she knew she must.

"You seemed awfully pensive when I saw you walking by the house," Isobel began as the two made their way into the sitting room.

"I've just come from a meeting with Dr. Clarkson," Mary offered, knowing it was useless to try to hide her preoccupation. Her observant and tenacious mother-in-law would talk it out of her sooner or later. Better to simply come clean up front.

"Oh?" Isobel's eyebrows shot up, but she withheld further comment until they had seated themselves. Mosley entered with the tray, providing a brief distraction.

"Would you like me to pour, Mrs. Crawley?" he asked.

"No, thank you, Mosley. That will be all."

Mary watched as Isobel poured their tea, graciously waiting until she had taken a few bracing sips before questioning her.

"Mary, I've tried, since your marriage, not to interfere in Matthew's affairs," she began, "but I think that the welfare of the women to whom my own son's happiness is tied qualifies as my business, as my happiness is tied to his."

She didn't need to say anything more. Mary knew perfectly well what she was being asked.

"It wasn't for my own welfare that I visited the hospital this morning. It was about...about Matthew."

Isobel's eyebrows rose again, wrinkling her high forehead.

"Matthew? I do hope he isn't unwell."

"Quite the contrary, in fact," Mary spoke as she placed her cup on the table and removed the letter from her pocket.

Mary spent the next few minutes relating the events of the past several days to Isobel, ending with Dr. Clarkson's acceptance of Sir John's theory that Matthew might eventually regain the use of his legs. She waited patiently while Isobel pursued the letter carefully, her mouth hanging unconsciously open in surprise as Matthew's so often did, reminding Mary of the subtle resemblance between mother and son.

"Well, this is marvelous news," Isobel finally exclaimed, folding the letter neatly back in its envelope. "Strangely enough, Mary, I can't say I'm truly surprised. A part of me - call it mother's intuition, if you will - has always...sort of known that that blasted chair wasn't my boy's ultimate fate. I had thought I was simply unwilling to face the facts, but perhaps I was right."

"I have to tell him," Mary spoke up for the first time in several minutes, jumping straight to the matter currently weighing on her the most. "Dr. Clarkson tried to tell me not to say anything to him until it was more certain. But I promised Matthew..."

"Well, of course you must tell him at once, my dear," Isobel interrupted. "Dr. Clarkson is a good doctor, but I've often found his methods rather antiquated. We've discussed this before."

Mary nodded her acknowledgement and took her final sip of tea as she waited for Isobel to continue.

"I can't pretend that it will be an easy thing for either of you to face, but the good news is that you will face this, and whatever else life throws your way, _together_."

* * *

Mary left Crawley House with a generous hunk of Mrs. Bird's lemon cake for Matthew and a book on physiotherapy, which, as Isobel proudly pointed out, was a practice that had been officially founded by four women in the 1890s. Sybil would certainly approve.

She flipped through the pages as she walked, glancing over several diagrams and descriptions of techniques that she hoped might be of use to Matthew. It was still early stages - after all, he hadn't consciously moved his legs yet - but she was hopeful that he soon would. Perhaps if he suspected that it might be possible, he would try and...

Her heart fluttered wildly as she entered the Abbey, accepting Carson's gentle welcome with grace and poise, though she made no attempt to hide her preoccupation from the caring butler. Carson knew better than to pry into his young mistress' affairs, but he did offer her a concerned smile that bolstered her spirits.

"Is my husband still with Papa, Carson?" she asked, allowing formality to slip somewhat, as she sometimes did when it was only the two of them.

"His lordship and Captain Crawley are in the library, milady."

"Thank you, Carson," Mary answered with a fond smile and a gentle touch of his arm.

She headed straight to their bedroom to hide the book and letter in the top drawer of table beside the bed, not wanting Matthew to see either until the moment was right. After refreshing herself, she went straight to the library in search of him. Her knock was answered by her father's cheerful voice. Upon entering, she was greeted with the charming sight of Isis and Puck playing tug of war with a bit of rope which was knotted at both ends. She smiled at the scene, knowing Isis could easily have gotten the rope away from Puck if she'd truly wanted to.

Her eyes moved next to Matthew. He was smiling somewhat sedately as he watched the dogs at play. His smile grew when he caught sight of her, though she could see in his eyes that something else had his mind occupied. For the first time, she had some suspicion of what that might be.

Feeling empowered by the insight into his strange, silent moods that she now possessed, Mary made her way to Matthew's side and bent to place a light kiss on his cheek, which he tilted willingly upwards for her.

"Have you had a good day, darling?" she asked with a hint of concern as she seated herself in the chair nearest Matthew.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, my dear. Very good." His brows knitted together as he struggled to get the words out.

Mary placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

"It must have been productive, for I can clearly see that it's tired you," she spoke as cheerfully as she could. "Perhaps a nap after luncheon would do you good."

"Perhaps," Matthew agreed, at last seeming to return to himself. Mary's smile grew as his warm hand covered hers on his arm.

She hoped that the nap would do them both some good, as it was unlikely either of them would get much sleep that night.

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_Well, Mary knows! She may or may not share her new knowledge with Matthew next time. *twirls mustache* _


	38. Chapter 38

_**A/N: Sorry about the wait for this chapter! Thanksgiving week was very busy so I didn't get a chance to do any writing until this week. Big things are starting to happen for our darlings. Enjoy! :)**  
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_Chapter 38_

There were no dinner guests at the Abbey that night, so Mary saw no reason not to take her favored seat beside her husband. She glanced discreetly at him from the corner of her eye, always on the look-out for any sign of his possible recovery. Once, he stared too long into his wine glass, and she allowed her hand to wander over to rest on his thigh. She watched knowingly as he blinked rapidly before placing his hand over hers. He turned to her briefly, flashing a little crooked grin that made her heart falter, though she could see the confusion warring with the love in his eyes.

Claiming fatigue, she excused herself to retire a bit early that night, and, as expected, Matthew followed shortly after.

"You're not really fatigued, are you?" he asked, one eyebrow cocked suggestively, as she emerged from behind the screen after Bates had left. Mary only rolled her eyes in response and slid in beside him. Her eyes lingered on the drawer in which she had secreted the book and the letter, but her thoughts were soon diverted as she felt his hands pulling her to him.

He attacked her lips eagerly that night, his hands almost rending her nightgown in a near-desperate attempt to find bare skin. She allowed herself to get lost in his passion, wondering at the intensity of it. He had been wonderfully, overwhelmingly passionate since their declarations of love. At the time, she had attributed his new-found assertiveness to their new openness, but perhaps it was yet another sign that feeling and function were returning to his lower half.

As she leaned over him to return his kiss, a fierce surge of hope rose within her. For the first time since she'd heard the news, she desperately wanted it to be true. More than anything, she wanted the opportunity to return to him even half the pleasure he gave her. Her hands began to tremble at the thought that, perhaps, very soon...

Afterwords, she briefly considered trying to tell him, but it seemed wrong to spoil the moment. She basked in the unsullied afterglow of her their passion until she drifted into a contented slumber.

Mary awoke the next morning feeling disappointed that she hadn't felt Matthew's legs move in his sleep again. Of course, she had slept rather deeply after the succession of sleepless nights following the first incident; perhaps she'd simply missed it. Matthew's eyes fluttered open as Anna entered with the tray. He smiled and greeted Mary with their usual morning kiss before waiting patiently for Mary to don her dressing gown so that he could call for Bates, who always waited just outside the door when Anna awakened them.

"Matthew," Mary gently got his attention just as Bates entered.

"Yes, darling?"

"There's...something we need to discuss later. Perhaps we can have a picnic luncheon on the lawn, if the weather holds."

"Sounds fine to me," he answered cheerfully, leaning close to kiss her cheek lightly before patiently allowing Bates to lift him into his chair.

As she picked intermittently at her breakfast, Mary reread the letter from Sir John. It wasn't flowery or overly optimistic; simply straightforward and clinical. Somehow, she suspected Matthew would appreciate that. There were certain symptoms that Mary could easily attribute Matthew's strange silences to, but she couldn't be certain until he confirmed them himself. The spasms, though, she could attest to.

That bewildering mix of hope, joy, and trepidation rose up strongly inside her again, and she put the letter aside. Her heart clenched as she pictured Matthew reading it, so many conflicting emotions flashing across his boyish features in an instant. Which one would he settle on? Would he remain hopeful or skeptical? Would be refuse to accept hope? Surely, if he were experiencing the sensations and shooting pains Sir John described, he would be glad of an explanation. Despite the hope such things portended, she hated to think of him in pain.

After dressing, Mary made her way out into the front hall in time to witness the first truckload of recovering officers leaving Downton for the train station. She sighed and pressed her hands to the little flutter in her belly. The officers were leaving; Matthew's uniforms had been packed away. Now his horrific injury might also soon be behind them for good. The war was truly, finally, ending.

* * *

The air was chilly, but dry, and the sun's muted rays peeking out from between the sparse clouds made the outdoors bearable enough for Mary and Matthew to escape the house for a while. Some of the officers had departed, but there was still a large enough number left in the Abbey that solitude for the serious conversation they needed to have was difficult to come by. Puck trotted beside them as quickly as he could on his stubby legs, having been displaced from his usual seat on Matthew's lap by the picnic basket Mrs. Patmore had packed for them. Mary hoped a bottle of wine was among the contents. She could feel the stiffness of Sir John's letter inside her coat pocket, and her heart began to race.

Both Isobel's and Dr. Clarkson's admonishments rang in her ears. What if the doctor was correct? Could they soon be faced with another setback? But Isobel was absolutely right. Matthew deserved to know, and she had promised him - no more secrets. She had made the right decision; all that remained was to carry it out.

Reassured of her path and firm in her conviction, Mary managed a small, genuine smile for Matthew as she stopped their progress under a shady oak and took the basket from him. She spread the blanket on the ground at his feet and arranged herself on it, demurely tucking her skirt around her ankles out of habit, though it was only the two of them so far from the house. She opened the basket and pulled out the contents one by one, swallowing a groan of dismay as she discovered apple cider rather than the desired wine.

They ate mostly in silence, each so lost in their own thoughts that they failed to take note of the other's preoccupation. Matthew consumed his sandwiches and lemon biscuits almost without tasting them. His mind had been occupied, since leaving Mary that morning, with a pressing need to confide in his wife. He'd wanted to shield her from disappointment, but he knew she wondered at his strange behavior. He could hardly blame her. It wasn't fair of him to continue keeping these...strange occurrences a secret. Besides, his need to unburden himself to someone was reaching a breaking point. Once, his mother would have been his confidant of choice, but he had Mary now. A part of him hoped that, in speaking his concerns aloud, he could somehow banish them from his thoughts. If his imagination was truly playing cruel tricks on him, then perhaps acknowledging it would make it disappear the way the monsters under his childhood bed vanished as soon as the lamp was lit.

"Mary, I..." he began falteringly.

"What is it?" Mary asked, putting down her half-eaten sandwich to give him her full attention.

"Well, it's just that...And I know this will seem...odd, but I've recently had some...very strange...sensations." He broke off again, laughing humorlessly at himself at the thought of just how idiotic what he was about to say would surely sound. "I can't imagine what it could mean. Perhaps I...jarred something. I don't know."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary breathed in relief at the opening he had given her. She was almost surprised that her hands were steady as she withdrew the letter, turning the stiff stationary over in her fingers. "Funny that you should mention it because...I have something to show you."

Matthew's brow wrinkled as he stared down at her in concern.

"Mary, what is it?"

"It's a letter from Sir John Coates," she continued calmly. "Dr. Clarkson gave it to me only yesterday. It...Well, perhaps you should just read it. I'll probably only confuse you if I try to explain."

She placed the letter in his hands, watching as his tongue darted out to wet his lips and his nimble fingers withdrew the sheets of paper from the envelope and unfolded them.

"Dr. Clarkson," Matthew read, "after further contemplation of my observations in Captain Crawley's case, I have compared these findings to those of past cases, and have come to the conclusion that..."

Matthew stopped reading suddenly, blinking rapidly as if to clear his vision of an imaginary obstruction. He snatched the envelope from where he had placed it on his lap and quickly scanned the front of it.

"This letter was postmarked November the 5th," he breathed in surprise. "But you said Clarkson gave it to you only yesterday?"

"That's right," Mary answered, nodding towards the letter to encourage him to continue reading.

After several minutes of reading and rereading the letter, Matthew sighed wearily and placed the papers in his lap. He raked his fingers through his hair several times, his mouth hanging open in consternation as he tried to find the words - _any_ words.

"Matthew," Mary spoke softly, placing her hand on his arm, "I know this is all very sudden and...confusing, but...well, it does explain some things. Those sensations you mentioned...Sir John describes something similar."

"Similar, yes," Matthew responded, his voice tense with threatening emotion. "But I was also told to expect phantom feelings - things that weren't real, only my imagination. It could still be that."

"This is _different_, Matthew. I know it is because I've seen a change in you," Mary shot back, sitting up a little straighter on the ground. "And...there's something else."

Matthew's eyes grew wide with a look that bordered dangerously on alarm. "What else?"

Again, Mary experienced a moment of doubt as she cast about in her thoughts for the right words to communicate what, only the previous morning, had been thought to be impossible.

"Twice this week, I felt your...your leg...twitch, or sort of spasm, while we were in bed."

At his disbelieving stare she quickly added, "I know I didn't imagine it, so don't you dare say that I did."

Matthew blinked rapidly again and swallowed audibly, his mind at war between processing this new information and shutting down entirely.

"Why don't we try something," Mary suggested, rising to her knees in readiness to tackle the task she'd just decided upon. "Close your eyes."

When Matthew only stared blankly at her, she reaffirmed, "close your eyes. Just... trust me."

Obediently, Matthew allowed his eyes to drift closed. "Now what?" he asked, confused, but trusting, as she had asked him to be.

"I want you, without peeking, to place your hand over mine." She placed one hand lightly on his right knee, her fingers caressing only very slightly as she watched his face for any sign of recognition. "Keep your eyes closed. Now, can you touch my hand?"

Matthew's brow furrowed. "Mary, I don't understand..." His eyes fluttered, and Mary was quick to reprimand him.

"Don't open them. Here..." She moved her hand slightly higher, onto the softer flesh of his thigh, and squeezed so firmly her fingers shook with the effort. To her relief, Matthew's lips parted in a little gasp. He felt it. "Now, place your hand over mine."

Matthew's hand trembled as he raised it from its place on the arm of his chair, almost afraid to hope that what he felt on his thigh was truly Mary's touch. Oh, how he had desired it! And now it was, possibly, hopefully, _real._ But what if he were wrong? What if his hand reached out and found only empty air? More heartache; more disappointment. But what if...?

It was only a slight thing. Just a hint of warmth and some dancing pin-pricks covering an area very easily the size of her feminine hand. He took one final, steadying breath before placing his hand firmly over hers. Simultaneous gasps of relief and awe filled the crisp air, and Matthew's eyes opened to reaffirm what his other senses already told him.

He had _felt_ something! And it was _real_!

The evidence was unmistakably there before his eyes.

"You see, darling?" Mary laughed, a joyful smile lighting up her face, stealing Matthew's breath as it always did. Nothing, no matter how significant, would ever trump his wife's beauty for him. "You really are getting better!"

As if to reaffirm the truth of her words, a wave of tingles radiated from his lower back all the way down to his toes, making him grimace in discomfort. Never in his whole life had he been so pleased to be uncomfortable.

"Perhaps...It does seem..." he spoke falteringly, unable to find adequate words. "Oh, darling, does this mean...that we might...have children?"

Mary felt a rare blush warm her face as the thought truly took form in her mind for the first time since she'd heard the news. Soon, they might not only be lovers, but parents also. The thought made her strangely uneasy. There had almost been too many revelations for her to process. She could only imagine the effect such musings would have on Matthew if she allowed him to dwell on them for too long.

"It's far too early to think about that now. You have to get better first," she spoke cooly, glancing away for a moment to let her blush subside. "And I know you will," she added after a brief pause, turning her hand over to lace her fingers with his.

* * *

_He knows! :D_

_If you have a moment, I'd love to know your thoughts on the chapter and on how Matthew will react after everything has a chance to sink in. Thanks for reading! _


	39. Chapter 39

_**A/N:**_Sorry about the wait! Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews of the last chapter. They make me happier than Matthew with cake. :)

* * *

_Chapter 39_

"Again!"

Mary giggled girlishly at Matthew's enthusiasm, feeling lighter and more at ease than she had in days. It had been an emotional day, full of new revelations and great worries, but now, at the end of it, they had discovered a marvelous game to play together. Matthew couldn't seem to get enough.

Moving a little further down the bed, she wrapped her hand around his ankle, squeezing and chaffing it firmly. She grinned as she took in his dimpled smile and the little lines surrounding his tightly closed eyes. He leaned forward, reaching for her hand. His fingers glanced against her wrist, and he sat back against the pillows again, opening those bright blue eyes to glare playfully at her.

"That's rather a stretch, darling," he chastened gently, his joyful grin belying his stern words.

"How's this then?" she asked, her voice lowering just slightly as she slid her hand up the length of his thigh. He hummed and sighed in languid contentment as she crawled up beside him, seating herself over him with one knee on either side of his hips. They kissed lightly for a moment, lips barely touching, just feathering softly over each other.

"I can't wait until I can feel you properly," Matthew breathed against her mouth, his heart beginning to race wildly at the image his mind conjured of all the ways he could _properly_ feel her - how they could, after all, be _properly_ married.

Mary drew back, framing his face between her hands, and asked, "what does it feel like now?"

Matthew's brows knitted together as he tried to put the feelings into words.

"It's only...a very faint warmth and a sort of...pressure. It still feels very different than when you touch my arms, for instance."

"You should see Dr. Clarkson tomorrow," Mary stated suddenly, causing Matthew's smile to falter a bit.

"Are you sure that..." he began, blinking several times to clear his thoughts before continuing. "Darling, he was wrong, the first time, not to tell us that there was hope, not to mention, he wanted you to keep Sir John's letter a secret from me until you were absolutely certain. I'm just not sure..."

"He may have done those things," Mary interrupted him, "and I'm not saying I agree, or that it's alright, but...the truth is, he's the only doctor we've got at the moment. I would like very much to have him examine you, just to be as sure as we can be that everything is normal and that you're healthy and strong."

Matthew looked a little concerned, but she could already see the resignation in his face. He wouldn't argue with her.

"Perhaps you'd rather have Sir John pay another visit," Mary added, infusing her tone with strategic playfulness. "Wouldn't that be delightful?"

Matthew chuckled softly and nuzzled her neck, tightening the hold of his arms around her waist.

"You know," he whispered wistfully, his tone suddenly changed from light to sultry, "I can feel your warmth on me."

"Mmm," she sighed into his hair, leaning slightly back to place more weight on his lap. His gentle groan felt warm against her bare neck.

After a moment, she slid off his lap to settle herself beside him, knowing that it wouldn't do to make him feel pressured. As much as they both wanted _that_ to happen, she knew it wasn't time. His body still had a great deal of healing to do before all that they desired would be possible. They'd established earlier that day that, though some feeling had started to return, movement was, as of yet, still impossible. Matthew had been frustrated, which had caused Mary a moment of fond amusement. How quickly her darling could go from blossoming hope to crippling self-doubt! She was beginning to wonder, though not at all regretfully, if she would ever be a dull moment in her life again.

Matthew turned slightly towards her, his expression concerned. "How will we explain Clarkson's visit to the family without giving away...anything."

Mary worried her lower lip between her teeth as she pondered the question. She'd thought of it earlier, and had a vague idea of something they could try if Matthew was up to it and it could be arranged.

"I was thinking that we could pay a visit to your mother at Crawley House and have him examine you there. She already knows, after all, so we wouldn't have to answer any unwanted questions."

"It would be nice to see the village again," Matthew chimed in, perking up at the prospect of visiting his old home. As much as he loved living with Mary, it would be nice to get away from the Abbey for a bit. This thought led to another, even more exciting one. "Mary, when I'm completely recovered, I want to take you on a real honeymoon. Italy, perhaps. Or Spain."

Mary laughed fondly at his dreamy expression and responded, "darling, you're getting ahead of yourself again. There's much to be done before we get to all that."

"But one day?" he asked, unable to simply allow it to pass without at least some assurance that she was as enthusiastic about the prospect as he.

"Yes," Mary humored him, resting her head against his chest. "One day."

* * *

Matthew shivered in the frigid winter air, pulling his dirty greatcoat more securely around him in a desperate, futile attempt to ward off the chill. His fingers were almost completely numb, and he pressed them up under his arms, longing for the thick leather gloves he had given to a young soldier (_too_ young, really) with a case of pneumonia that would probably claim his life before he saw another German uniform.

He stalked back to his dugout where he briefly smiled at the sound of William's gentle snores coming from the cot on the wall opposite his. The cold didn't stop his loyal batman from snatching all the precious hours of sleep possible.

Matthew seated himself on the edge of his cot and contemplated trying to rest. His shift was over, after all. He really ought to get some sleep, but it seemed so impossible. His body ached and his mind was troubled with grim thoughts of the men they would likely lose to the cold that night. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. _Any of it._

Almost unconsciously, one frozen hand made its way into the pocket that housed the greatest comfort he could imagine having out there in that frozen, barren wasteland. He fingered the soft material and imagined Mary's slender hand, encased in deep red leather, wrapped around it. That smile, so sweet and sad. Her voice...

_"Such good luck."_

Soft lips on his cheek, so wonderfully warm.

_Warm._

His eyes fluttered open (when had he closed them?) to fall upon Lavinia's photograph propped up on the crate that served as a makeshift table. He reached for it with his other hand, holding it close to make out her delicate features in the dim light. This had become somewhat of a routine for him, purposely replacing memories of Mary with memories of Lavinia. It had become easier over the years. Instead of remembering the softness of Mary's lips on his cheek, he recalled the sweet fullness of Lavinia's lower lip as he'd drawn it between his own...

Suddenly, he was jolted from his reverie by an all-too-familiar whining sound followed predictably by an explosion. Shouts. Cries. More explosions. More shoats.

Duty called.

_"Captain! Come quick! It's started!" _

He jumped up from his place on the cot and jogged to the entrance of his dugout, turning back at the last second as he realized that, in his haste, he'd dropped Lavinia's photograph on the dirt floor. But, before he could return to pick it up, another loud whistling pierced the air. The force of the explosion knocked him backwards, but he didn't lose consciousness. He could only watch, horrified, as his dugout collapsed in on itself. Did William make it out? He couldn't have, Matthew realized as panic gripped his heart. He could only discern the photograph amongst the rubble, its edges quickly blackening and curling under as it burned.

_"Matthew!" _

Lavinia was burning! She was trapped!

He tried to rise to his feet to go to her, but he...couldn't. He couldn't move!

Shutting his eyes tightly, he tried to block out her pitiful cries.

_"Of course we can be married. It doesn't matter...It isn't important...Matthew..."_

His eyes shot open again, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief at finding himself back in his own room, in his own bed, at Downton. He tried to focus on the familiar, comforting weight of Mary's head on his chest and the sound of her gentle breaths as she slept soundly, thankfully unaware of this particular nightmare.

Careful not to disturb her slumber, he allowed his fingers to lightly stroke over the smooth skin of her arm as he waited for his heart rate to slow and his breathing to return to normal. The prickling feeling in his legs was especially forceful this night, and he grimaced in discomfort. But he was getting better. He would walk again, work again, dance again. Some day he would make love to his wife. They would have a family...

But..._Lavinia_.

"Oh, God," he whispered into the darkness as it suddenly occurred to him that, one day, Lavinia might learn of his recovery. How would that make her feel? If Clarkson had been forthright with him - with _them _- from the start, it wouldn't be Mary lying in his arms, but Lavinia. By all rights, it should have been. The thought made his stomach churn. Nothing had ever felt more right than his love for Mary, but he couldn't help feeling that his current happiness had been acquired somewhat dishonestly. Granted, it wasn't _his_ dishonestly, but dishonesty nonetheless.

Nights like these made Matthew impossibly more irritated about the limitations of his condition. Knowing sleep was now out of the question, he would dearly have loved to rise from the bed in search of something to distract his mind or, at least, to burn off a little of the restless energy churning inside him. The knowledge that, in all probability, his condition was changing and improving, wasn't much immediate consolation. He wanted to rise from the bed _now._

Still careful not to disturb Mary, he closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could on his legs, trying to locate the muscles that moved his once-useful limbs. After several minutes, a light sheen of sweat began to dampen his brow from the effort, but nothing had actually happened.

Despite his frustration, he could still feel the progress his slowly healing body had made. Whereas before, when he'd tried to gain control of his lower half, he could almost have sworn he didn't have any legs at all if he wasn't looking at them, now he could, at least, locate them with his eyes closed. He could feel where the individual muscles were. Every nerve was practically humming with sensation that was impossible to ignore. Still, he couldn't actually force his body to obey the commands of his mind. Mary had said that he had moved twice in his sleep, so it must be possible. He stifled a frustrated groan, still mindful of the sleeping beauty draped over his torso.

For several long, agonizing minutes, he lay still, silently simmering in the uneasy mood the dream had provoked. At last, Mary groaned plaintively in her sleep and rolled away from him, freeing him to move as much as he could. He pulled himself into a sitting position and scrubbed his hands over his face, fighting the impossible to indulge urge to pace. Instead, he settled for leaning forward, running his hands along the length of his legs and back up, distracting his troubled mind with the novel feeling.

It had always seemed so cruel to him that his dreams so often contained a hearty dose of actual memory mixed in with the frightful delusions. Too often, the actual memories were just as terrifying as the delusions were, but there was nothing quite like the horror of having his loved ones placed in _that_ world - the world of his nightmares. The world of fear and mud and death that he had left months ago but couldn't seem to leave behind.

In desperate need of a distraction, Matthew looked around him. He picked up the small stack of books on the table beside the bed and squinted to read the titles in the narrow beam of moonlight that streamed through the crack in the curtains. Underneath his typical selections of poetry and classics was the medical text Mary had shown him earlier that day. Setting the other books aside, he cracked open the cover and surveyed the table of contents, looking for something relevant to his condition.

It wasn't difficult to find. The entry he was looking for had been underlined. He smiled to himself, wondering if this had been his mother's doing, or perhaps his tenacious wife's.

Upon arriving at his desired page, he was surprised to see his own father's neat, practiced hand - something he hadn't seen in many years but recognized instantly. There were several notes in the margins, as well as quite a few underlined sections, all of which seemed relevant and helpful. He couldn't suppress an amazed chuckle as he read his father's words, obviously intended for a patient of his with a similar injury. For several minutes, he read his father's notes and studied the diagrams of exercises and massage techniques he thought Mary might be willing to help him with until sleep finally came.

* * *

The morning sunlight awakened Mary before Anna's entrance. She pulled herself into a seated position and smiled at the sight of Matthew asleep propped up against the headboard, the physiotherapy book Isobel had given them lying open on his chest.

"Now that cannot be comfortable," she spoke teasingly, her smile growing as his mouth snapped shut and his eyes fluttered several times before opening.

"Oh," he murmured sleepily, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he realized the undignified position she'd discovered him in. "Good morning, dear."

"I see you were reading in the dark," Mary observed with a fond smile, nodding towards the book on his chest.

"Yes," Matthew admitted sheepishly, lifting the book to show her the page he'd left off on. "I was reading my father's notes by moonlight." He traced his fingers lovingly over the neat script as Mary peered over his shoulder. "He must have been treating a patient with similar needs. I never knew him to take an active role in any kind of physiotherapy, so it must have been someone he was quite invested in."

Mary's brow wrinkled in confusion as she observed the various notes, lines, and circles on the pages. She could have sworn that there hadn't been any writing in the book when she'd first looked at it. Perhaps she'd simply missed it. There could be no other explanation.

"It's funny," Matthew continued, his voice soft and wistful, "it's almost as if he's treating me from the other side."

Mary hesitated for only a moment before returning his nostalgic smile. Placing the book aside, Matthew took her face in his hands and kissed her softly but repeatedly, refusing to release her until Anna entered.

* * *

Later that day, Matthew fidgeted in his chair as he watched the car pull to a stop in front of the house, ready to take him on his first outing since his return from the front. Mary stood quietly beside him, feeling rightfully pleased with herself for managing to finagle an invitation, complete with a visit from Dr. Clarkson, out of Isobel without using any words that would tip any passing family members or servants off to their actual purpose. He greeted Branson pleasantly as the friendly chauffeur helped him into the car with surprising strength. Mary looked on in amusement as Matthew made pleasant small talk with the chauffeur all the way to Crawley House.

"He seems like a good sort of chap," Matthew commented to her as she pushed him through the entryway of his former home. Mary only smiled indulgently and thanked Mosley as he held the door for them. She suspected something was up between her youngest sister and Branson, and, however kind and friendly he was with Matthew, Mary wasn't at all sure that she approved.

"Matthew! Mary! Welcome."

"Hello, Mother." Matthew opened his arms, and Isobel stooped to embrace him affectionately, giving him a loud kiss on the cheek.

"Dr. Clarkson should be here any moment now," Isobel spoke again. "I suppose, since there are no downstairs bedrooms, the front parlor will have to do for the examination. We'll put you on the settee."

"Thank you so much for doing this, Isobel," Mary spoke softly as they made their way down the hall to the parlor.

"No need to thank me, Mary. I was quite happy to help. Not to mention, I shall greatly enjoy having tea with you both after the examination."

Clarkson arrived only a minute or so after Mary and Isobel had managed to arrange Matthew on the settee. They'd closed the drapes and removed his outer clothing. Isobel had a blanket ready to allow him some modesty, but Matthew certainly felt odd being so undressed in the parlor. Mary held Matthew's hand as the doctor began to question him about his symptoms, but said very little herself. She helped Matthew turn onto his side so that his back could be examined. Clarkson prodded the scarred area, and Matthew gasped in pain as a flurry of uncomfortable sensations shot down his legs.

"That reaction alone was likely enough to give a positive prognosis, Captain Crawley," Clarkson explained as he stood, assisting Matthew in turning onto his back again, "but, just to be certain..." The doctor uncovered Matthew's bare feet and removed a needle from his medical bag. "Let me know if you feel anything."

Matthew felt the very first pinprick.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, surprising Mary by breaking into delighted laughter. "I felt it!" he explained unnecessarily. Clarkson had clearly seen his foot jerk.

"It appears that your spine was not transected, merely bruised," Clarkson spoke as he packed his instruments and readied himself to take his leave.

"So, what do we do now?" Isobel chimed in.

"We wait," Clarkson answered simply.

Neither Mary nor Isobel was happy with this.

"Surely there must be something we can do to...help him along," Mary spoke up, her frustration with Clarkson's methods clearly discernible in her tone.

"I understand that waiting is difficult for you, Lady Mary, but only time will..."

"No, I'm not good at waiting," Mary interrupted, "neither am I good at keeping secrets from my husband. It's pointless for you to ask me to do either."

Matthew stifled his laughter against the back of his hand as Mary practically scolded the doctor. Even his mother remained silent. There was nothing more to be said on the matter.

At last, Clarkson took his leave and the ladies were able to help Matthew back into his clothes. They assisted him into an upright seated position on the settee, arranging his feet neatly in front of him on the floor.

"I cannot begin to describe how wonderful it is to be seated somewhere other than that damned wheelchair," Matthew sighed, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs as he cast his mother an apologetic look, fully expecting to be scolded for his language.

"Soon you can do away with it altogether," Isobel observed cheerfully as Mary seated herself beside Matthew and placed her hand in his. "Now, shall we ring for tea?"

* * *

_Thanks for reading! More progress in Matthew's recovery next time. :) _


	40. Chapter 40

_**A/N:**_Sorry for the long wait for this chapter, folks. Christmas and a sick husband slowed me down a little, but here it is. I know a lot of us are in need of a pick-up after some traumatic events that took place yesterday (no spoilers in your reviews, guys!), so I do hope you'll enjoy this angst-free, happy chapter. :)_  
_

I want to say a massive thank you to Willa Dedalus for all the support and input. Also, she's been nominated for the Highclere Award for best new author, and, while I would never presume to tell you how to vote (there are other wonderful authors nominated as well), I do encourage you _to_ vote and to check out her wonderful stories if you haven't done so yet. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank those who took the time to nominate this and two other of my stories. I am truly touched. Thank you so, so much!

Finally, to the guest reviewer who asked about my tumblr page, it can be found at mrandladymarycrawley dot tumblr dot com. Beware of spoilers for the Christmas Special and really all of S3!

* * *

Chapter 40

In the fortnight following their visit to Crawley House, Mary and Matthew had been forced to spend almost all of their time indoors, as the weather had turned bitterly cold. Fortunately, the last of the convalescing officers had departed, and Downton was restored to its former state, making the search for privacy indoors much less difficult. They still spent a great deal of time in the library, but Mary had claimed one of the smaller downstairs parlors for their private use, giving them a place to escape without needing to brave the inclement weather. They were enjoying this peaceful refuge one morning when there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Enter," Mary called, looking up from her magazine. Matthew glanced up from his book as Carson entered.

"Telephone for you, Lady Mary."

"Oh," Mary breathed, surprised. "Who is it?"

"It's...Miss Swire," Carson answered almost hesitantly, his gaze wandering nervously over to Matthew.

"Lavinia?" Mary gasped softly, eyebrows raised. "I'll be right there. Thank you, Carson."

"Very good, milady." The butler nodded and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Mary glanced over at Matthew, taking in his expression of astonishment, which mirrored her own.

"I wonder why she didn't ask for me," he mused quietly, looking down at his feet.

"She is a lady, Matthew. We don't go about telephoning married gentlemen." Mary rose, setting her magazine down on the side table. "I'd better go see what she wants."

"Quite right," Matthew responded. "I do hope she and Reggie are well."

"I'll give her your regards," Mary assured him as she left the room.

Carson was still standing guard over the telephone when she reached it.

"Thank you, Carson," she dismissed him with a fond smile, waiting until he'd passed out of sight to pick up the receiver.

"Hello." Her voice was slightly tentative.

"Mary?" a soft voice spoke on the other end.

"Lavinia? What an unexpected surprise."

"Yes, it's me," Lavinia confirmed.

"How are you? I do hope that there isn't anything the matter."

"Not at all," Lavinia responded. "In fact, I've called to share some good news."

"Oh?" Mary turned to glance behind her as she heard the distinctive whir of Matthew's wheelchair approaching. She raised her eyebrows at him, but made no further comment.

"Yes. You see, the announcement will be printed in the papers tomorrow, but I wanted you...and Matthew...to hear it from me."

"Announcement? Are you..."

"Engaged?" Lavinia interrupted. "Yes, I am. I believe I told you about Benjamin when I was last at Downton."

"Congratulations," Mary spoke cheerfully, a genuine smile lighting up her face. "I do remember. The doctor, right?"

"That's him," Lavinia answered, her voice full of tender affection. "We plan to marry in the summer."

"How splendid!"

"You and Matthew will be invited, of course, but I understand if you'd rather not come."

"Why ever would we not?" Mary responded, moved by the thought that Lavinia would still care to invite them after what happened. "Of course we'll come."

"Of course we'll go where?" Matthew stage whispered, tugging on her elbow. Mary brushed him off as she tried to concentrate on Lavinia's small voice.

"You'll tell Matthew for me, won't you, Mary?"

"Actually," Mary began falteringly, glancing down at Matthew. "he's right here, if you'd like to tell him yourself."

"Oh, could I? Thank you, Mary."

"You're welcome. Here he is." She handed the receiver to a surprised, but enthusiastic, Matthew.

"Lavinia?" he spoke as soon as he had the telephone. "How are you, my dear? It's wonderful to hear your voice."

Mary swallowed back her irrational jealously as Matthew glanced apologetically up at her. Feeling like she should allow him some privacy, she slowly strolled in the direction of the parlor, his rich, cheerful voice following her.

"Oh, darling, this is marvelous news! I couldn't he happier for you! He's a lucky chap."

With a sigh, Mary closed the parlor door behind her and picked up her magazine, though she had little hope of actually reading anything, as she awaited Matthew's return.

Almost a quarter hour had passed by the time the door creaked open to reveal his happily smiling face.

"Well?" Mary asked, cringing at the hardness of her tone. She hadn't meant to he sharp with Matthew. He truly didn't deserve it. Thankfully, he didn't appear to notice.

"My darling, I cannot tell you what a blessed relief it is to me to know that Lavinia is happy and well settled. It's such a weight off my mind."

"Oh, so now _I'm_ your darling again, am I?"

Matthew rolled his eyes and sighed in fond amusement at Mary's little display if jealousy. Her possessiveness stirred his blood deliciously.

"Mary, you needn't worry, you know. I did - I do - care for Lavinia, but more in a friendly way. Any romantic inclination between she and I died long ago."

"I wasn't worried," Mary protested too forcefully, earning a knowing grin from her husband.

"Come here," he beckoned, holding out one hand. "That's an order, wife," he teased when Mary looked at him askance.

Laughing softly, she rose and relaxed into his arms, her momentary piqué all but forgotten.

"Lavinia and I spoke of it, actually - of the past," Matthew spoke after a moment, his warm breath tickling Mary's neck. "Both of us agreed that things happened exactly as they should have done."

"I would never have left you, you know," Mary spoke up, her voice firm with conviction. "I've always liked Lavinia, but I never could understand why, if she loved you as she'd claimed to, she allowed you to send her away like that." There was a brief pause as she fidgeted uneasily with his long hair, pushing it back into place behind his ears. Expressing her deepest feelings had never been easy. She couldn't look him directly in the eye, but she forced herself to say what had been in her heart ever since the day she'd left Lavinia weeping in bed to attend Matthew, left all alone in the hospital.

"Lavinia never loved you the way I do. I would never have allowed you to send me away."

"I know," he responded with a conviction that surprised Mary. "And I never thought it was possible...to love as much as I love you."

There was no possible response to such a declaration but to kiss him...and kiss him...and kiss him...

Several minutes later, when they were forced to come up for air, Matthew informed her that he'd told Lavinia of his immanent recovery.

"She was so happy for me, Mary...for _us_. Genuinely so."

"Perhaps you'll be up and about by the time we attend her wedding in the summer," Mary offered with a smile, leaning close for another feathery kiss.

"Perhaps I'll even be able to dance by then."

"There you go again, Matthew," Mary scolded gently. "Always looking too far into the future. Let's just get you standing first."

"Perhaps you'll even be with child by then," Matthew's rich voice rasped against her skin as he placed numerous kisses on her neck, making her body hum with arousal.

"Is that a possibility, do you think?" Mary asked, tentatively hopeful.

Matthew looked up at her, eyes sparkling flirtatiously. "I think so," he breathed, leaning down to resume his ministrations to her neck.

* * *

That night, after the rest of the house was asleep, Mary and Matthew were hard at work doing what exercises they could to help him along as he slowly regained motor function in his legs. Matthew lay flat on his back on the bed in only his underpants with Mary standing at his feet, his father's physiotherapy text lying open where she could refer to it as she worked. As the diagram depicted, she held one of his feet in her right hand with her left supporting under his knee. Carefully, she bent the leg then slowly straightened it again, repeating the steady motion over and over until her arms could do no more.

She couldn't help admiring him as she worked, his handsome face pinched with concentration and, perhaps, a little discomfort as he tried his best to do some of the work himself.

Mary now understood what atrophy meant. Dr. Crawley had explained it in one of his notes, along side a passage on how exercises like the one they were currently engaged in would help reverse it and give the patient some strength back for when he learnt to move about on his own again.

At last, Mary's arms could take no more, and she placed his foot carefully down on the bed. "Can you move your toes for me again, darling?" she asked, mopping her damp brow on the back of her arm.

"I think so." Matthew pulled himself up on his elbows, his brow furrowing as he concentrated hard on curling his toes, just slightly. It was difficult, but a sure sign that they were making progress. Setting his jaw in determination, he groaned as he tried to bend his knees on his own. The result was very slight, but wonderfully encouraging. He smiled in satisfaction as he flopped back down against the pillows.

"You're doing so well, Matthew," Mary praised him happily, tired, but so full of joy and anticipation. "We'll have you up and about soon."

"I hope so. _God_, I hope so."

Mary's smile faded as he squirmed and grimaced in pain. His back had begun to ache quite often, causing him difficulty finding a comfortable position in which to sleep. Fortunately, his father had circled a section of the book that helped with that as well.

"Turn over," Mary instructed him resolutely, taking hold of one of his legs to help him. Matthew groaned at the discomfort the movement caused, but, knowing what was to come would be a wonderful treat, readily obliged.

Mary flipped the book open to the appropriate page and set it on the table, though she practically had the sequence of palpations memorized by now. Standing beside his recumbent form, she overlapped her hands over the tense muscle and pressed, feeling his body tense in pain before relaxing in blissful relief. She continued for several minutes until all the offending muscles had been dealt with before assisting him in rolling onto his back. She removed her dressing gown and climbed in beside him, pulling the covers up around them as her head dropped wearily to its natural place on his chest. Their legs tangled together beneath the blanket, and Matthew smiled as he focused his thoughts on rubbing his foot gingerly against Mary's.

A contented hum rumbled in his chest at the incredible rush of feeling her touch provoked, and he turned his head to kiss her temple.

"Matthew..."Mary began timidly, her hand finding its way under the edge of the blanket to caress his soft, warm belly.

"Hmm?"

Mary opened her mouth, then closed it again, the words she wished to speak sticking in her throat. She wanted him, so desperately so. Her body hummed with arousal everywhere it was pressed against his, and she hoped that just maybe...Perhaps they could at least try. But Matthew was exhausted, and she couldn't face the possibility that he might not want to yet. Resigning herself to simply lying in his arms as they tried to find sleep, she said only, "Goodnight, darling."

Matthew bid her goodnight as well, and, after pressing a final, feathery kiss to her forehead, surrendered to exhaustion.

* * *

A week later, Matthew watched Mary as she chatted cheerfully on the other side of the dinner table, caught up in her conversation with Violet. She was so beautiful. He was utterly transfixed.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his eyes moved over her smiling face and shining hair, down over the graceful turn of her neck and pale exposed shoulders. What a vision she was in that deep blue gown. What a vision she would be out of it.

Matthew squirmed in his seat as her eyes - those deep chocolate pools - locked with his. Realizing what he'd done, he quickly ceased his motion, lest someone other than Mary discover his secret. He wiggled his toes inside his shoes, an exercise that was becoming easier with frequent practice. Next, he rolled his ankles a few times, testing out the once-familiar movement that now seemed so strangely unfamiliar. He flexed his calves, then his thighs, the knowledge of how to use these muscles returning to him now that he could try. A part of him had feared that he'd forgotten how to use his legs in the months in which he was unable, but it was all coming back to him now, like riding a bicycle - which he may not have forgotten either. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the happy thought.

When the gentlemen and ladies rejoined after a brief separation, Matthew found his eyes drawn constantly to Mary's graceful form as she stood, tall and stately, in the center of the room - a queen holding court. His attention was fixed more upon her lovely person than the conversation, but one particular statement held his attention.

"Have you seen the new hair styles?" Mary asked pleasantly. "Women in Paris are cutting their hair short, like boys."

"I do hope you won't try it," he spoke impulsively, reaching for her gloved hand and lacing his fingers with hers. Images of her beautiful, flowing hair tumbling down over her creamy shoulders, spread over his pillow and chest, surrounding him like a curtain as she leaned over him, assaulted his mind, and he fought back the urge to squirm again. "Then again," he continued, his mind conjuring a new image, "the thought of you throwing caution to the wind, losing your inhibitions, and doing something so bold and darling, does hold a certain appeal."

He gazed intently up at her, a small smirk on his lips as she smiled down at him, her thumb discreetly stroking against his.

"Mary would look lovely with any hair style," Sybil spoke up, throwing her sister and brother-in-law an admiring glance.

"Oh, absolutely," Matthew agreed, his eyes never leaving Mary's face.

* * *

"Darling, you're early." Mary smiled at Matthew in her vanity mirror as he wheeled himself into the bedroom. She glanced quickly behind him in hopes that Bates wasn't about to enter and find her in only her corset, silk knickers, and stockings. Matthew usually knocked and waited for her to respond before entering, but he seemed to have other plans tonight. A quick assessment of his appearance confirmed that he'd had Bates remove his jacket, shoes, and stockings, but he was still dressed in his black tie dinner attire.

"Anna, you may go," Matthew spoke politely, smiling at the reflection of Mary's raised eyebrows in the glass.

The maid bid them a hasty goodnight and exited, closing the door behind her. Matthew pushed his dressing room door shut as well before wheeling himself over to where Mary sat, his eyes drinking in her sensual appearance in only her underthings. How beautiful she was! And she was his, soon to be his in every possible sense of the word.

Still facing away from him, Mary smiled coyly at his reflection as he approached, forcing herself to remain nonchalant even as the gentle brush of his fingertips over her bare skin as he pushed her long waves over her shoulders made her skin prickle with gooseflesh.

"It was very presumptuous of you to dismiss Anna like that," she spoke with affected disapproval.

"Then I'll simply have to continue in her stead." His warm lips ghosted over her sensitized skin as he spoke, pressing light kisses to the backs of her shoulders and neck between words.

Suddenly eager to feel his touch everywhere, Mary surrendered her pretense and reached behind her to capture his hands, guiding them towards the little bow at the small of her back.

"Just loosen it," she instructed, her voice breathy with anticipation at the thrill of having Matthew undress her like this. "I'll unfasten it from the front."

Matthew eagerly did as she bid, giving the laces one good tug to free her enough to allow her to flip open the little clasps that held the restrictive garment closed. Before she had even tossed the discarded corset aside, his hands had snaked around to cup her breasts, covered only by a very thin silk camisole.

"Oh, darling," he breathed against her slender neck as he felt her nipples pebble under his touch.

Desperate for more of him, Mary swiveled on her vanity stool to face him, her hands immediately reaching into his thick, soft hair as their lips came together in a passionate clash. Mouths opened and tongues met as hands began to pull at clothing, baring more and more skin. Mary groaned as she felt his hands on her breasts again, now bare, stroking with a gentle reverence that made her heart swell with happiness and love.

Matthew patiently allowed Mary to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt as he simply sat back and admired her, those lovely dark waves momentarily hiding her charms from view. But if they were gone...nothing would ever be hidden. He groaned aloud at the thought.

As soon as his hands were freed from his sleeves, he reached down to capture one trim ankle, lifting it to place her slender foot on his thigh. He whimpered as he felt its precious weight and warmth pressing there, and his resolution began to take a firm hold in his mind, banishing all fears and doubts. Mary was his wife, and his body now responded to her touch. He'd noticed the first stirrings of real, normal arousal several days prior, but hadn't felt ready to share this with Mary, as he wasn't sure he would be able to follow through with making love to her as she deserved in his present semi-healed state. But, as his hands moved almost of their own accord to unhook one sheer stocking, he knew the fear was no longer enough to stop him from trying. He needed her too badly.

With great care and reverence, he rolled each of her stockings down her long legs, kissing and stroking devotedly as each new inch of smooth, ivory skin was revealed. His hands began to shake as he knew the moment had arrived - the moment the truth of his recovery would finally become real to both of them. But what if he failed? What if he truly wasn't ready? It would be a blow, but one he could weather with Mary's support. He flexed the muscles of his thighs, reminding himself of the new control he had over them, and gathered his courage.

"Mary," he breathed, drawing back from her passionate kiss. "I want to try something."

Unable to speak for the sudden lump in her throat, Mary only nodded, sitting quietly as she watched Matthew wheel himself beside the bed. He braced one hand on the soft mattress and the other on the handle of his chair, his brow creasing with effort as he slowly began to raise himself from the seat.

Instantly, she was at his side, her hands on his elbows, supporting him. Almost as soon as she touched him, Mary drew back. This was something Matthew needed to accomplish on his own. There would be plenty of things he'd need her help with over the coming months, but he needed to make this first step unaided.

"Come on then, darling," she encouraged gently, holding out a hand for him to take if he needed it. She watched, her heart racing in her chest, as Matthew stood, for the first time in months, on shaky legs.

A coarse groan escaped him as the hand not resting on the bed grasped her arm and pulled her to him, allowing her to support him as he fought to remain upright for as long as he could. She tightened her arms around his waist and tilted her head back to be kissed in this new, exciting way, his mouth slanting over hers as he'd never been able to do before.

Mary regretfully broke the kiss as she felt more of his weight settle against her. She gently pushed him back onto the bed, assisting him in lifting his legs onto the mattress before succumbing again to the allure of his passionate embrace.

* * *

_So he stood for the first time! I'll go ahead and start immediately on the next chapter, so the next update will, hopefully, be faster in coming than this one was. I haven't decided yet if the next chapter will be the last or if I'll break it up into two parts, maybe with an epilogue at the end. Probably two, since we could all use some extra happy M/M sexy times, I think. ;)_

_Furthermore, I would like to officially announce that there will be *drum roll please* a **sequel** to this story to begin posting in the new year. The title hasn't been officially selected yet, but I'll give you a heads-up if I've decided on one by the final post so you can be on the lookout for it. _

_If you have a minute, I'd love to know your thoughts! Thanks for reading! _


	41. Chapter 41

_**A/N:**_Well, here it is, folks. It's pretty much 2,700 words of smut, smut, and...smut. But not completely gratuitous smut, necessarily. At least I like to think not.

Before we get going, I just wanted to say a big, big thank you to all my wonderful readers who supported this and my other stories in the Highclere Awards. I'm pleased to announce that LOAT won in two different categories, "Writing Technique" and "Characterization - Mary." I'm tickled about both, but especially the second. Mary is, hands down, my favorite character possibly in television history, so it means a very, very great deal to think that I've done right by her. If I do nothing else right in this or any of my DA writing, I want to do Mary justice.

Thank you all so much for all your support throughout this journey. It's drawing to a close now (one more chapter to go!) and I couldn't have done it without all the wonderful encouragement, especially from my awesome beta, Willa Dedalus. You rock! _  
_

* * *

_Last time:_

_"Mary," he breathed, drawing back from her passionate kiss. "I want to try something."_

_Unable to speak for the sudden lump in her throat, Mary only nodded, sitting quietly as she watched Matthew wheel himself beside the bed. He braced one hand on the soft mattress and the other on the handle of his chair, his brow creasing with effort as he slowly began to raise himself from the seat._

_Instantly, she was at his side, her hands on his elbows, supporting him. Almost as soon as she touched him, Mary drew back. This was something Matthew needed to accomplish on his own. There would be plenty of things he'd need her help with over the coming months, but he needed to make this first step unaided._

_"Come on then, darling," she encouraged gently, holding out a hand for him to take if he needed it. She watched, her heart racing in her chest, as Matthew stood, for the first time in months, on shaky legs._

_A coarse groan escaped him as the hand not resting on the bed grasped her arm and pulled her to him, allowing her to support him as he fought to remain upright for as long as he could. She tightened her arms around his waist and tilted her head back to be kissed in this new, exciting way, his mouth slanting over hers as he'd never been able to do before._

_Mary regretfully broke the kiss as she felt more of his weight settle against her. She gently pushed him back onto the bed, assisting him in lifting his legs onto the mattress before succumbing again to the allure of his passionate embrace._

__

* * *

_Chapter 41_

Matthew buried his face in the warmth of his wife's slender neck as he pulled her down into his arms, her comforting weight settling familiarly over him. He fought back the tears that threatened, his heart full of joy and anticipation for all the future now held. He could stand! Some day soon, he would walk! And now, he was going to make Mary his wife in the most intimate sense of the word.

With a happy sigh, he pressed a lingering kiss to her delicate skin as she positioned herself, out of habit, as she always did when they were intimate, her hips resting on his lower belly and legs pressed tightly against his sides where he could feel all of her touching him - as unnecessary as this now was. Gripping her hips tightly, he shunted her down his body until they were pressed very intimately against one another.

Mary gasped as she felt him, full and hard under her, the warmth of his desire reaching her though the fabric that separated them. She rubbed tantalizingly against him, and they groaned in unison at the delicious sensation before their mouths connected in a fiery kiss. Matthew squirmed under her as he fought back frustration at being unable to muster the strength to push up against her as every instinct inside him demanded he do. His fingers hooked under the waistband of her knickers, tugging them downwards as much as he could with her pressed so tightly against him. Tearing herself from the temptation of his mouth, Mary quickly rolled off of him to remove her final covering. She tossed the thin silk away before leaning down to kiss him again, her tongue dipping eagerly into his mouth.

As she lay down beside him, indulging in the pleasure of his kiss and his hands on her bare skin, Mary tried to gather her courage to continue past what they had experienced together thus far. While she was very eager to become one with him in every way, she couldn't shake the nervousness that came with such a monumentally new experience between them. His lower body had been off limits to her touch, or even her vision, for so long now, it was difficult to believe that she could now see and touch him as she liked without having to fear for his emotional well-being. She wanted to - oh, she wanted to! - but it was such a big change. And what if they tried and things didn't work out the way they wished? How would Matthew respond? She needed a moment to take it all in.

"Mary," Matthew sighed as her lips moved to the sensitive skin of his neck, nipping and sucking lightly as she hooked one leg over his. "Please, darling."

She looked up at his soft plea, smiling fondly at his red cheeks and bashful, yet suggestive, gaze. Emboldened by his sweet blush and shy grin, she kissed the little crease between his brows before pushing herself up to sit beside his hips, facing him. Mary smoothed one palm down his warm, flat belly until she reached the waistband of his trousers. For a moment she teased him, her fingers hovering over the first button as her eyes met his. They exchanged little flirtatious smiles, so similar to those traded over the dinner table or across the drawing room, but now with much greater intent.

Summoning all her willpower to stop her hands from shaking, Mary slipped her fingers under the dark fabric and worked the first closure loose, watching in fascination as the pale skin of her husband's lower abdomen quivered at her feathery touch. His hand wrapped around the foot that lay within his reach, stroking up her calf and around her small ankle, his touch giving her even greater boldness. Mary bit her lip as her fingers brushed over him as she opened his trousers, then his underpants, freeing him. As he sprang free into her palm, she couldn't resist stroking him languidly, marveling at the smoothness and warmth of him. His head dropped back onto the pillow and he sighed her name several times, his fingers tightening around her leg. Her hand ventured lower, exploring him gently as she watched his beautiful face transform with pleasure as she'd never beheld before.

"Feel good, darling?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"So...so good." His voice was breathless and coarse, his eyes shining up at her under heavy lids. "_God_, Mary, I want you."

Reluctantly withdrawing her hand, Mary bent down to claim a quick kiss before tugging his trousers over his hips, helping him as he tried with his still-limited mobility to kick them off. As soon as his legs were free, he carefully sat up, reaching for Mary and drawing her close for a frantic kiss. He was almost desperate for her - for all of her.

"Lie down," he instructed softly, pushing her down against the pillows as he leaned into her, shuffling over to rest in the cradle of her open thighs. Both gasped as their centers touched, and Mary's arms and legs came around him, holding him to her.

"_Matthew...husband_..." Her warm breath brushed over his ear, sending little shivers of desire straight to his apex. She arched up into him, and he tried to shift, to find the right angle. A sharp twinge in his lower back made him gasp and he stilled his movement over her, dropping his face into the crook of her neck as disappointment and mortification crashed down on him.

"Darling, what...oh, Matthew." Mary kissed his cheek gently as she took in his furrowed brow and pained expression. Carefully, she pressed on his shoulder as she scooted out from under him, helping him turn so that he could lie flat on his back.

"I'm so sorry, Mary," Matthew apologized after they'd spent an awkward few moments in silence as he caught his breath and waited for the pain to diminish.

"Don't be," she hushed him, gently pushing his hair away from his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm... fine." He scrubbed one hand over his eyes, wondering how he would ever endure the torture of desiring her as fiercely as he did while his body made it so terribly difficult to achieve satisfaction. He glanced at her from under his palm, his eyes tracing her slender curves as she hovered slightly over him in the dim light of the room, and he felt his arousal begin to stir again. His eyes fluttered closed as he stifled a frustrated groan, wondering how he would ever get to sleep in such a state. And Mary - how disappointed she must be. But he would see that she was taken care of even if he still couldn't...

"Oh, God, Mary!" The cry wrenched itself from his lips without conscious forethought as he felt her fingers ghost lightly over him, gently caressing his sensitive flesh.

"You've always taken such good care of me, dearest." Her voice was warm and inviting in the semi-darkness. "Now let me return the favor."

An aroused sigh was all the reply she received as Matthew removed his hand from over his eyes and placed it firmly on her thigh. He watched as she stroked him, alternating between teasing caresses and gentle squeezes, until he was fully aroused again, painfully hard and begging for more of her touch.

Remembering the ways he'd so cleverly learned to pleasure her, Mary held his gaze as she leaned down to trail little teasing kisses over his belly as her hand continued to cradle him, moving slowly downwards until...

"_Mary_! Oh..."

Matthew trembled almost violently as her lips and tongue brushed lightly over him. She placed several kisses along his length, her tongue darting out to discover his own unique taste as she explored him with her mouth and hands, learning what he liked. His fingers slipped into her hair as he watched her take him slowly into her mouth, her dark eyes opening to meet his, their already bright blue glowing with excitement and passion.

"Mary..." Her name slipped from his parted lips again, and she felt completely undone by her need for him and the overwhelming love she felt for him in this moment.

Matthew sighed at the loss of her warm mouth around him as she crawled up his body, leaning down to press her swollen lips to his as she rubbed teasingly against him. She shifted her hips and he felt her body begin to accept him. A sharp little cry flew from his lips at the incredible warmth of her as she gently reached down to position him, slowly and carefully joining them.

"You feel wonderful, dearest," Matthew rasped as Mary made herself comfortable over him. "I love you so completely."

Mary braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to take his mouth hungrily as she placed more weight on her knees. Breaking the kiss, she rested her forehead against his as she began to undulate over him at an almost torturously languid pace, the feel of him touching her so deeply almost unbearably lovely. Matthew wished with everything in him that he could thrust up against her. She was so beautiful and felt so utterly divine, her wet heat surrounding him, that he couldn't help but feel the need for _more_.

"Mary...please," he gasped out as his hands moved to her hips, encouraging her to increase the pace. Pushing herself up by bracing her hands securely on his chest, Mary began to move more fervently against him, whimpering needfully as the changed angle forced him deeper inside her.

"_Yes_, that's it." At the sound of his hoarse whisper, Mary's eyes moved to his face, watching in blissful fascination as he fought to keep his eyes open, to keep watching her. His gaze was fixed on the place their bodies were joined, and she followed it, groaning at the erotic image. She felt herself approaching the edge as he swelled inside her, and his hands moved down over her bent legs to wrap around her feet, lightly tickling her upturned soles.

"So...close..._Aaahhhh_!" Mary slowed her movements as she watched his face transform with his peak - the first in so many months. His lips parted as he sobbed his release, eyes finally slipping closed as he pushed up against her once, the deep touch sending wave after wave of bliss coursing through her before he collapsed against the pillows, pulling her down over him.

For several minutes, they lay silent, their breath coming in sharp gasps as they basked in the magnitude of what had just occurred between them. Mary gently squeezed where he began to relax inside her, still enjoying the intimate connection. After several minutes, the desire for a kiss roused her from her passion-induced lethargy, and she rose up on her elbows to brush her lips lightly over his as her fingers delved into his damp hair.

"Well, darling," she spoke against his mouth, "do you feel properly married now?"

Matthew chuckled indulgently at her gentle teasing, pulling her down for a longer, deeper kiss that nearly stirred them both to passion again.

"Oh, my dearest Mary," he began, reaching up to frame her glowing face between his warm hands, "as wonderful as being together like this is...we're no more properly married now than we were this morning. I was an utter fool to suggest otherwise." He paused for a moment as Mary shifted to lay fully over him, legs tangling with his. "You're a part of me, Mary Crawley. You have been for a very long time. Words cannot possibly express the strength of my love for you."

"Nor mine for you," Mary whispered against his neck as she placed several wet kisses there to distract herself from the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. It was almost too much, after all she'd done wrong and all the ways she'd failed, that he would love and want her so much; that he should be so completely hers - now in every possible way. "Rest now, darling," she breathed, snuggling comfortably against him. "You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

Matthew sighed and tucked her head comfortably under his chin, feeling remarkably relaxed and utterly, blissfully sated. His contentment would last only until the break of dawn, however, when he awoke to the sight of Mary's smooth back and the certain knowledge that he absolutely had to have her again, without delay.

She lay on her side, the expanse of her bare back turned towards him, pale skin almost glowing in the early-morning light. The edge of the blanket sat low on her lip, exposing the exquisite curve of her feminine shape. Carefully, he turned onto his side, pleased that the soreness in his back was quite minimal. He wrapped his arms around her limp form, pulling her against him, fitting her soft backside so deliciously against his front. A low moan escaped him as he pushed against her warm bottom, completely enthralled by the feel of her. With one hand, he cupped both of her breasts, cradling them gently as the other hand found the enticing heat between her thighs.

A light shifting of her hips back against him and a soft whimper assured him that she had awakened. Lifting one long leg to drape back over his, he opened her and positioned himself, joining them again in one long thrust.

"I love you," he whispered against the back of her neck as he moved slowly against her. Arching back into him, Mary twisted in his hold just enough to reach his lips, her mouth opening against his in a hungry kiss.

It didn't last long, but Matthew's back wouldn't have allowed much more regardless. Mary rested her chin on his heaving chest after he'd rolled away from her, a self-satisfied grin making her lips quirk prettily as she gazed unabashedly at his blissful expression, knowing that it was only hers to see.

"I can hardly wait to see the look on Papa's face when he sees you stand for the first time," Mary spoke after she'd caught her breath. "He truly does consider you a son, you know."

"I'm sure he'll be doubly pleased, knowing I can now do my duty by Downton."

"Well, of course it's only natural that he would be, but...darling, I think he'll be pleased for your sake too."

"Yes," Matthew mused softly, tracing his fingertips up and down the little hills and valleys of her vertebrae. "He has been a wonderful support through all this. If not for him, we might not be where we are now."

"If you'd like, you can show everyone after dinner when we're all together."

"Alright, but...I'd like to tell your father first, privately. I think he deserves to be the first, besides my mother, to know."

Mary nodded enthusiastically, pleased that Matthew would consider her father so highly.

A light tap on the door made them both start. _Anna! _Their eyes met, both wide with alarm. Anna would surely be suspicious to find them completely naked curled up together, their evening-wear strewn over the bedroom floor and not a nightgown or pajama trouser in sight.

"Milady?"

"Would you just...give us a few minutes, Anna," Mary spoke cooly towards the door. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest as she surveyed the tangled mass of clothing surrounding the bed. "On second thought, better wait for my ring."

"Very good, milady."

Matthew chuckled softly as they heard Anna's light steps disappear down the hallway. "It would be rather strange for Anna to have to catch me en déshabillé."

The deep, sensual rasp of his voice sent a thrill of longing coursing through Mary's entire being, as potent as any physical caress. Turning back, she allowed her eyes to rake unashamedly over his bare skin, drinking in every lovely inch. A suggestive hum vibrated in Mary's throat as she crawled over him, seeking his lips as her fingers slipped into his wildly mussed hair. Anna would be waiting for quite a while.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you have a minute, I'd love to know your thoughts! Just one chapter to go. :)


	42. Chapter 42

_**A/N:**_Well, there it is. The final chapter. Big thanks to Willa Dedalus whose wonderful input and dedication helped shape this story into what it now is. Also, to all who have faithfully reviewed and commented, you probably don't realize just what an impact your feedback has. Thank you all. I couldn't have done it without you. :D_  
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* * *

_Chapter 42_

Eventually, Mary rose from the bed to find their dressing gowns and tidy the mess they'd made of their evening-wear in their haste to be rid of it the night before, hiding the evidence of their tryst from the staff until the family could be told of Matthew's recovery. She smiled at him as he stretched languidly under the sheets, yawning dramatically before struggling into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Though Matthew was quite eager to try standing again, he couldn't help groaning in discomfort at the deep ache in his back and thighs.

"Ah...I think we may have overdone it, darling - much as I hate to admit it."

Mary wrapped her arms around him, leaning down to brush her lips over his reassuringly as she helped him work his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown.

"Perhaps it's normal," she mused as she secured the sash around his waist. "I'm a bit stiff and...maybe even a little sore this morning myself," she admitted with a faint blush.

Matthew smiled up at her, trapping her with his arms securely around her silk-clad waist. "Yes, but my poor muscles are even more disused than yours," he whined playfully, giving her a mock pout. "Perhaps we can sneak away for a nap after luncheon."

"Why do I get the feeling that sleep isn't what you have in mind?"

"Because it isn't." Matthew leaned down to place a lingering kiss on her collar-bone, enjoying the feel of her fingers slipping into his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. "I was actually hoping you'd be willing to help ease my aches. Your little hands are remarkably skilled."

There was silence for a moment as they simply held each other close, still basking in the afterglow of their early-morning lovemaking.

"And," Matthew continued, "if we just happen to end up in _l'acte d'amour_, then so be it."

Mary giggled and playfully swatted his hands away from her bottom.

"That's the second time this morning you've said something terribly naughty in french. Whatever has come over you?"

"Well...it seems somehow less improper spoken in french than in the king's english."

Both laughed easily for a few moments, drawing out their time alone together before Matthew left for breakfast with the family and Mary ordered her tray. She secretly wished that he might stay and break his fast in bed with her, but that would have to wait. Just for this one day, nobody should be given reason to suspect anything until they were ready to divulge their secret. However, she was absolutely resolved to keep him in bed with her for as long as they liked the next morning.

* * *

As the day progressed, Matthew was amazed to discover that their intimacy of the previous evening hadn't changed much between them. He didn't feel any closer or more one with Mary than he already had; there was no new mystical bond tying them together. No, all those things had already been there between them. Their hearts had been knit together as one long before their bodies had done the same. In many ways, the sweet intimacy they'd forged before his recovery had been just as precious and fulfilling. He was only sorry it had taken him so long to see it.

He looked lovingly at his wife seated beside him in their quiet parlor, her dark head bent over a novel, and marveled, again, that he could possibly deserve such a treasure. When he had been blind to all but his own anger, she had seen him clearly. When he had been weak in body and spirit, she had been his strength. She'd seen something in him that was worth saving when he hadn't cared if he lived or died. Her belief in him had restored his faith in himself and in humanity. How could he ever possibly repay her? His Mary was wise and strong as she was beautiful, and it would be his privilege to love and honor her for all of his days.

_"On any terms,"_ she'd said to him, seated on the edge of his hospital bed. Yes, she was wise beyond her years for seeing things so clearly and so simply. What a fool he had been for failing to return her sentiment. It was with a searing pain deep in his heart that he realized that he hadn't loved her as she deserved in the beginning. He _had_ loved her; of course he had. But her love had been selfless and sacrificial where his had been self-pitying and conditional. It had taken time, but he now felt that he too could say, without a single doubt in his heart, that he loved her - that he would love her - on any terms.

"Darling, you seem rather pensive this morning," Mary mused as she caught his eye.

Matthew sighed and looked down at Puck, who lay in a contented doze across his lap, and fiddled absently with one of his velvety ears. "I was just...thinking about how little I've done to deserve you, my darling."

His candor touched Mary's heart, and she moved closer to slip her hand in his. "It isn't a matter of deserving, Matthew."

"I know," he responded quickly, lifting her hand to his lips. "I will be forever in awe of you, my love."

"My, my," she teased him, hoping to lighten the mood. "I can't imagine that's something many wives get to hear from their husbands. Careful, darling. You're well on your way to making me a very vain woman."

Sensing her desire to steer the conversation away from such serious subjects, Matthew only chuckled at her ridiculous comment and pulled her close for a lingering kiss.

* * *

It was decided that they would wait to tell Robert until just before dinner, knowing it would be impossible for him to keep a straight face for very long with a secret such as theirs in his possession.

The earl was, perhaps, a little surprised to be summoned to his daughter and son's private sitting room after he'd dressed for dinner, but he could never have been prepared for the sight that greeted him upon entering.

Matthew had wanted to receive Robert already standing, so he'd had Mary watch at the door for when her father came round the corner. He had to lean rather heavily on her arm while they waited, but her ministrations during their stolen hour in their bedroom had lessened the ache in his back enough to make the exertion bearable.

"Surprise," Mary muttered lamely to break the silence as her father simply stood gaping at the two of them for what seemed like an interminable stretch of time. Despite both their best efforts, she knew Matthew wouldn't be able to remain standing for much longer.

"Oh, my dear chap. My very dear chap!" Robert strode quickly across the room to them and clasped Matthew's free hand in his, clapping his other hand on Matthew's shoulder and leaning close in a sort of fatherly hug. After a few moments, Matthew reluctantly admitted that he couldn't remain standing any longer, and Mary and Robert both supported him as he carefully seated himself. Mary then invited her father to sit for a few minutes while she and Matthew explained to him what had happened.

"Oh, Matthew, Mary, this is most excellent news!"

"Thank you, Robert." Matthew reached for Mary's hand, clasping it tightly as they beamed at one another. "It's pretty good news for us too."

"So, am I to understand that...that the possibility now exists for..."

"Yes, Papa," Mary answered, rolling her eyes at his very expected question. "We can now do our duty by Downton."

Matthew's eyebrows shot up at Mary's blasé answer, and he glanced quickly at her to find her smirking prettily, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She returned his look briefly, her smile growing, as if to reassure him that duty was the furthest thing from her mind when it came to all the new possibilities that now existed for them.

Throughout dinner, Mary frequently caught her father gazing at either herself or Matthew with a peculiar gleam in his eye that, she cringed to observe, had also captured Edith's and her mother's attention.

"Robert, what's gotten into you this evening?" Cora asked. "You look like the cat who's swallowed the canary."

Mary held her breath and glanced over at Isobel, her palms growing damp under her gloves. To her relief, Robert answered simply,

"You'll just have to wait and see, my dears. I assure you, you'll never guess."

"Heavens, Robert," Violet chuckled softly into her napkin, "you always did love a good intrigue. Now you've got us all on the edge of our seats."

"As I said, Mama, you'll just have to wait and see."

As Matthew smoked his after-dinner cigar with a gleeful Robert, he began to feel something akin to stage fright. The feeling lasted only as long as their abbreviated separation from the ladies, however. One glimpse of Mary's serene face was enough to banish his jitters. He asked Robert to place him near the fireplace so he could use the mantlepiece to hold onto, and Mary immediately moved to stand beside him, clearing her throat to gain the attention of the room.

"Now, if we could have your attention please, everyone, Matthew has something to show you." She smiled and nodded down at him, standing close enough to be available should he need her help, but making no move to assist him in standing. Matthew smiled gratefully back at her, thankful for her understanding. As much as he appreciated her being there for him, he wanted to do this himself.

For a moment, the room was atwitter with whispered speculations, but, as soon as Matthew slipped his feet from the wheelchair's footrest, silence descended. The quiet lasted for only a moment. Once he was fully on his feet, gasps of shock and delight broke out, and they were peppered with several disbelieving questions. Robert and Isobel took it upon themselves to answer these, seeing that Mary and Matthew were quite absorbed in one another to the exclusion of all else.

Mary still made no move to go to Matthew, who seemed quite steady with one hand braced on the mantlepiece. She merely gazed proudly up at him and raised her sherry to her lips, sipping delicately. Matthew's eyes zeroed in on the light sheen of moisture the drink left on her pink mouth, and his tongue darted out to wet his own lips, which quirked up in a rakish grin as he was seized by a rather scandalous idea. Improper though it was, he gave in to the impulse and reached for Mary, relishing the surprise on her lovely face as he drew her close and leaned down to slant his mouth firmly over hers.

Cheers and applause erupted around the room as he kissed her for a long moment. Mary's free hand came up to caress his jaw, allowing herself to briefly return the kiss before modestly pulling back to bestow upon him an affronted look that he was certain was only for show. If he knew Mary, she was already planning their escape.

Both were surprised by the expressions on the family's faces when they turned. There almost wasn't a dry eye in the room. Even the Dowager Countess dabbed discreetly at her nose with a handkerchief. Mary was most surprised by her mother, who stood with her hands clasped together in front of her, blue eyes shining with brimming tears. Sybil was the first to break free of the shock and rush to Mary's side, immediately pulling her into a firm hug.

"Oh, Mary, how happy I am for you both! How deliciously romantic."

Mary smiled indulgently at her sweet younger sister and accepted an embrace from her mother next, though she couldn't help but feel indignant that this sudden change of heart had only occurred after Matthew's recovery. She had hoped that her mother might have seen how good Matthew was for her sooner and thought to apologize for her previous actions. Mary sighed softly as she quickly accepted, then dismissed, Cora's words of joy. She was determined not to allow her mother to impede her happiness when she had so very, very much to be grateful for.

After the initial hubbub had died down, Mary finally took Matthew's arm, asking him if he'd like to sit back down.

"I think I'd better, but not in that blasted thing." He looked about apologetically as he realized his language hadn't exactly been appropriate for the drawing room, but nobody seemed to have taken offense. Catching Matthew's meaning instantly, Robert moved to his other side, assisting patiently as Matthew made the few shuffling, faltering steps to the settee. A deep, satisfied sigh was released as he sank into the soft cushion.

"Thank you," he addressed Mary and Robert once comfortably situated. "I can't even begin to express how wonderful it feels to be in a normal seat again."

Mary squeezed the hand he still held, giving him another proud grin before she was whisked away by the ladies.

Once left relatively alone, Robert, who had seated himself beside Matthew, leaned close, lowering his voice to a deep whisper.

"I must say, Matthew, that Mary seems to have blossomed overnight, and I can only assume your recent recovery has some roll to play in her newfound contentment. Well done, my boy."

Matthew blushed handsomely as Robert clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well...I...I'm afraid I'm about as good at all that just now as I am at walking. Mary's too good to put up with my fumbling."

Robert shook his head at Matthew's self-depreciating reply, gesturing discreetly towards Mary where she stood in the midst of the group of women, her smile lighting up the room far more than the electric bulbs.

"Nonsense. Just look at her, Matthew. She's positively glowing."

"Indeed, she is," he had to acknowledge. She was stunning. He suddenly found that he couldn't take his eyes off her. His Mary was a truly captivating woman, and he was the most fortunate of men to have won her devotion and her love.

* * *

Several days after the big reveal to the family, Mary found herself walking up several flights of stairs into Downton's massive attics alone in search of something she hoped would help Matthew - a lovely antique she remembered her grandfather having always with him. It took several minutes of digging, but, at last, she held the gleaming mahogany in her hands. For several moments, she admired the fine walking stick, just as lovely as she remembered it being. The brass handle needed a little polishing to restore its original shine, but the intricate carving captured her eye just as it had when she was a small girl. She thought Matthew would look very smart with it indeed.

Over the following weeks, Matthew and Mary could often be glimpsed from the windows of Downton Abbey out on the lawn, wearing broad smiles despite the chill, their little dog running playful circles around their feet. Mary would stand just out of his reach as he rose from his wheelchair, leaning gingerly on the late Lord Grantham's walking stick. With every slow, careful step he took forward, she took one step back. This game would continue until Mary allowed him to catch her, at which point he would be rewarded for his efforts with a kiss.

With such daily practice, it wasn't long before Matthew felt strong enough to walk the distance from his dressing room to the dining room for dinner one evening. When he'd exited the small room and was stood in the middle of the long hallway, he experienced a moment of panic. The distance seemed so terribly long, the task almost impossible. But, before he could lose hope, Mary stepped out of the shadows of their bedroom door, her face lighting up at the sight of him standing there.

"Leaving the chair behind tonight, darling?" she asked, clearly pleased with his initiative. She took the arm not supported by his stick as they began to walk, slowly, but steadily. As Matthew's strength began to wane, Mary moved closer, offering even more support.

"I'm not putting too much weight on you, am I dearest?" Matthew asked, turning to glance down at his wife's beaming face.

"Nonsense," Mary replied, squeezing his arm closer to her side. "I'm stronger than I look, Matthew. You can always lean on me."

_Fin_

* * *

_*author bawling eyes out*_

_But, the sequel is coming up in a couple of weeks! I can now announce that the official title will be A Love To Lean On. Keep an eye out for it. :) _

_I'd like to thank you all so much for going on this journey with me. If you have a moment, please let me know what you thought of this final installment. It would be much appreciated. :D_


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